On the Edge
by Principessa Di Morte
Summary: Left mostly alone in a post-apocalyptic world ravaged by harsh conditions and twisted creatures, an unlikely bond is formed between the Winchesters and a certain FBI profiling team. Facing their worst nightmares come to life, is survival even possible?
1. Scarcity

_A/N: So, here's my latest attempt. Yay for crossovers! :] I'm very stoked to be back in business, and I absolutely love writing this . I can only hope you'll enjoy reading it half as much. A warning, though (and if you've read any of my other stories I'm sure you'll be very aware of this already): this is not exactly the happiest or neatest story out there. I can promise violence, gore, angst... Of course, that's not all of it, just the majority. So if you're into stuff like that, this is your story. If not... can't say I didn't warn you. This is definitely on the high end of the 'T' rating._

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

Ash is blowing across the barren landscape, and Dr. Spencer Reid pulls his moth-eaten coat tighter around him, blinking back false tears that are brought on only by the hot wind blowing by his face. Behind him, Garcia, Prentiss, Morgan, and Hotch stand. They're…the only ones left.

It was never supposed to get this bad. The disasters that had spread across the world…there'd been talk of apocalyptic behavior, but no one had really bought into the idea. The end of the world? Really? It was just…too terrifying to even consider. Least of all believe.

And yet…they'd continue to spread. Fires, quakes, tsunamis, twisters…then…even more horrifying than the movement and noise of the storms, than their destruction…came a great silence, over every land. With the resounding absence of sound, heavy and stifling, came a darkness. Total and impenetrable, it had lasted…and lasted… And lasted…

Only when it seemed that the dark and quiet would eat away your very soul and leave only an empty, smoking shell, did it lift. The first rays of sun were the most beautiful thing…

But then the discoveries came. People, things, plants, bodies—all gone. Just disappeared, without a trace, sound, or explanation. Or, worse than the disappearances…they changed. Everything too weak, or sick, or lonely, was caught by the darkness and mauled. The things that emerged were no longer of the earth, unnatural and twisted.

"Spence…"

The quiet whisper startles Reid out of his dark thoughts, and he turns, clearing a parched throat coated in dust, ash, and who knows what else to answer.

"What do we do?"

Morgan sounds meek, and Reid blinks, momentarily taken aback. _He's _not supposed to be the leader…

"W-what do you mean?"

"I mean, what do we do? I figure, you've read up on…everything, you're smart, you're the best one for this job right now. So tell us what to do…we'll take care of the rest."

"Well, um…" Reid clears his throat again. "We, uh, we need…" He automatically glances to where J.J. would be standing, for her reassuring smile, but it's not there. Before even _his _brain can stop it, the gaze darts to Rossi's spot. But there is no comfort to be found there, either, and before he knows it, his already sore throat is tightening further, nose prickling and eyes burning. He turns away from their meager leftover team, gasping. The ground blurs threateningly beneath him, and he drops to his knees without warning, hands fisting in nothingness, fingers desperately searching for the grass that isn't there. Sobs tear through his chest, wracking his fragile frame.

Guy, what's wrong with him? He hasn't cried like this since he was a toddler. Sure he's feeling the grief, the pressure—the _world _just _ended_, for Pete's sake!—but so is everyone else. And, sure, he's lost people—J.J., Rossi, Dad…Mom…—but so has everyone else! He supposed to be indifferent, the one who consults his head, not his heart, but for some reason…he can't stop it. His universe has fallen away beneath his feet, and that's impossible to get back.

Then suddenly, there's a hand on his quaking shoulder, and a comforting voice, deep and scratchy and achingly familiar, in his ear.

Reid reaches over and grasps Hotch's calloused hand, shivering uncontrollably. He's not anywhere _near _all right; he won't be for awhile. But right now, with what's left of his family, and an uninterrupted stillness around him, he figures it's worth living for a little while longer.

~SN~CM~SN~CM

There are things in the shadows.

There always have been—the Winchester boys were brought up knowing that—but its different now. These things—creatures—were once people, but that species name deserted them long ago. As soon as their flesh begins dripping off their bones; their eyes yellow and empty. When they begin eating their own kind…they are no longer known by any name. Only _"them," _whispered fearfully in inner circles of the Last Ones.

Sam tries hard to keep this in mind as he shoots another one's skull clean off its head. Tries to remember that as he fights them off, one by one, an efficient killer—no, hunter—at work. These things are no longer human.

His brother beside him is surely thinking the same thing…or so Sam hopes. Dean's face is still a mask set in pure granite, and these days, it sometimes seems not even Sam's pleading can crack it.

Sam snaps forcefully back into awareness at a blinding pain in his jaw. Crap. He lost focus, and now one of _them _has slammed an incredibly hard fist into his face.

He grunts, shoving the thing off and letting Dean pop it in the face before leaning against the wall, gingerly rubbing his jaw. He knows full well that in the middle of a battle is not the best place to nurse an injury, but he really doesn't have a choice. His hand comes away bloody—jeez, those things hit hard. Giving Dean a weak thumbs-up to show he's all right, Sam goes straight back to shooting…albeit a little less accurately. His vision is a little fuzzy.

The brothers only came in to the little, dark, dilapidated house for food. They really should've known better. _They _like dark places, the light burns _their _eyes, and the house is full of deep shadows, thrown about by the random rays the sun decides to turn their way. But the Winchesters were desperate. It was the first thing they'd seen that wasn't completely destroyed. And a house had to have food somewhere in it. So they'd gone in, guns drawn and ready. And they'd needed them.

Sam turns away, towards the door, amazingly still with a bag in his hand. He calls his brother's name and nods towards the wooden slab, pulling quickly away from the mini-war.

Dean turns to him and nods, kicking one of _them _off his leg. He's holding his own brown bag and quickly dives to follow Sam, bolting out the door as soon as they're close enough.

Once outside, Sam heaves a sigh of relief, hurrying to the middle of the field before them and relishing the sunlight, however dangerous it is these days.

"Sammy. C'mere. Let me have a look at that hit."

Sighing yet again, Sam turns to Dean, squinting in the harsh outside light. Dean's hands roam over the injury with surprising gentleness after the slaughter they've just caused, his brow furrowed.

"How'd it get the drop on you like this, Sam? I know the little things are fast, but still…you all right?"

Sam chuckles. It's such a useless question these days; of course he isn't all right. But he answers in the expected way, anyway.

"I'm fine."

Dean narrows his eyes for a moment, but accepts the answer and pulls out a flask of holy water. They try to apply it to every wound they get, especially from the creatures; just in case. After all, it's the apocalypse, anything's possible. They haven't quite figured out if the creatures actually are demonic or not, but it never hurts to be safe.

Honestly, though, they never expect anything to happen, and this time is no different. Sam winces as the warm water runs over the tear in his skin, but it doesn't smoke or sizzle and Dean finishes his first aid quickly, pulling a bottle of pills out of his pocket and smiling softly.

"Good job in there." He pours out two and hands them to Sam.

Life's become the slightest bit more chick-flicky since _it _happened.

"Thanks. You too. What've you got?" Sam pulls a canteen out of his coat and swallows the pills with a swish.

Dean opens his sack, his gentle smile turning to a trademark smirk. "Hmm…cans, cans, boxes, cans…"

Sam chuckles again, lightly this time. "Yeah. Same here. You hungry now? Or you wanna wait?"

Dean shrugs. "Eh. Either or. I guess we could wait."

Sam nods in understanding. Appetite is never very strong after one of the battles. "All right. Well…any place in particular you want to go?"

Dean shakes his head, letting out a short breath. "Yeah, Sam. There's this great place just a few miles from here… Oh, wait, that's right, it's gone now. Because, you know, the world kind of blew apart. So, yeah, I'm just dying to go places right now."

Sam rolls his eyes. And there's the mood swing. He wisely chooses not to reply and begins walking east. Maybe they'll eventually find someone they _don't _have to kill. He can always hope, right? Even after the earth's end, that's never a foreign concept. It's built into human nature. Sam almost smiles.

Even with the apocalypse, you can't take away hope.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

_A/N: There 'tis. Don't worry, they'll meet up soon enough. So, how am I doing so far?_


	2. First Impressions

_A/N: Hello, everybody! Hope the wait wasn't too long. Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews-they are so motivational! I believe I replied to everyone... apologies if I somehow missed you, and thanks again! So, here begins the excitement. Our characters meet..._

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

Reid climbs unsteadily up a hill, scrutinizing the uneven landscape for any signs of life. A quiet tap on his shoulder, and he turns to find Penelope's face staring back at him, brows furrowed.

"Hey, Garcia. Something wrong?"

She bites her lip. "No. Well, yes. I mean, uh…hmm."

Reid frowns. "Listen, if this is about earlier, I'm fine, I mean that was completely uncalled for and I'm sorry, I'll—"

"No, no, that's not it at all. Reid, no one blames you for that."

Spencer quiets for a moment and licks his lips, his eyes finding their way back to the burnt, grassless ground.

"All right, then. What is it?"

"Well, I was just wondering…I mean, do you think there's anyone left? Why haven't we met anyone else? You don't think…just…" Her eyes fill up. "Why haven't we seen any other people?"

Reid smiles softly, putting a hand on Garcia's shoulder. "Penelope, it's pretty much Armageddon. People are a little widespread at the moment. But they are here. Don't worry. I'm sure we'll meet someone soon e—"

"_Hey!"_

Reid halts mid-sentence, pivoting around at a faint shout. He cocks his head. "Penelope, you hear that too, right?"

Penelope only nods, eyes round and white.

"_Hey! Is anyone out here?"_

Reid utilizes the full length of his legs to finish the trek up the hill, straining his eyes to find anyone—_anyone_—around.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

Dean has started yelling. Sam isn't sure why, but he's not going to stop him.

"Hey!"

It's not likely that anyone will answer. Sam doesn't even know where they are—it looks like the absolute middle of nowhere. Then again, so does everywhere nowadays.

"Hey! Is anyone out here?"

Sam sighs and almost tells Dean to stop, if only for the sake of his pounding head. But then, there comes a faint sound, and Sam's heart nearly stops. He looks to Dean, and in a split second, a message passes, and they're running, over the hill, through the harsh rays of sun, running until Sam stumbles and Dean picks him up and running some more until they see them.

Then they stop, simultaneously, and blink, as if checking it's not a dream.

People. There are people on the hill. So close. _Real people. _And once they see them, they do the same thing as the brothers—freeze. It's unbelievable. Apparently Sam and Dean aren't the only ones who haven't seen anyone yet.

"H-hello?"

The first one to speak is an orange-haired woman with colorful make-up. Sam absently wonders where she got it.

"Um…hi." Now that they've reached each other, it seems slightly awkward. What do you say in this situation?

A dark-haired, well-toned woman steps up, empty gun holster on her belt. "Hey. I'm Emily Prentiss, this is Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Aaron Hotch, and Derek Morgan. We're…we used to be criminal profilers, but we're just wandering now. It's—um, it's really nice to see you guys."

Sam smiles, a true grin of relief. "You, too. We've been looking for days. Um, I'm Sam and this is Dean. Winchester. We're brothers."

Emily nods. "Right. Do you… What do you do? I mean…anything in particular?"

"We, uh, we hunt supernatural creatures."

Emily chuckles, shaking her head. "You know, if you'd said that to me any other time, I would've scoffed in your face. But now… Man, I gotta say, you two are probably the best people to have right now, huh?"

Dean steps up now, grinning crookedly, and Sam rolls his eyes. "Well, we are pretty good."

Sam steps away. First woman they've seen in months…of course Dean would flirt, and Sam just isn't in the mood. He walks over to the first man Emily introduced…Spencer, he thinks. Spencer Reid. For some reason, the name sounds familiar…

"Uh, hi."

Reid starts, gaze jumping over to settle on Sam. "Oh. Hi. Sam, right?"

"Yeah."

They both fall silent, gazing out into nothingness. Then Sam's face brightens, and he turns quickly to Reid.

"I remember now! Spencer Reid… Dr. Spencer Reid. That's it. I've read some of your articles… They're really good. It's nice to see some people still know what they're talking about, huh? I love my brother but he's not always the most intelligent conversationalist."

Reid seems to blush slightly, glancing away. "Thanks. Yeah, I, um, like to research."

"Me too." Sam grins. Maybe this isn't all bad.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

Dean finally turns away from Emily after repeated attempts at reaching a more feminine side of her. He's starting to think he's lost his charm. But that thought is soon dismissed. The end of the world would hinder anybody. He'll get her eventually.

Looking over to Sam, Dean rolls his eyes but allows a small grin to appear on his darkened face. So…he's found a genius buddy. No one else will be talking to them for a while. He turns to the one Emily called Hotch…he looks like a leader. Dean can usually tell.

"Hey. So, you guys were, like secret agents? That's pretty friggin' cool."

"Criminal profilers. Big difference. We do help catch bad guys though, and from the sound of things, so do you two."

Dean smiles. "Yeah. It's nice to just be able to tell you guys… We'd usually have to come up with some sort of lame cover, you know?"

"Yeah. I guess we are a lot alike, then. So…what you know could come in handy these days, huh?"

Dean shrugs, sighing deeply. "Yeah, I guess."

Hotch looks like he's about to say more, but doesn't, his eyes traveling past Dean and to the sky above. Upon reaching their destination, though, they freeze, and a deep crease appears between his eyebrows. Dean catches this.

"Hey. Something going on?"

"It looks like there's some sort of storm coming. We might want to find shelter."

Dean turns, following Hotch's gaze. His own frown forms as he realizes the former agent is right. On the horizon, huge boiling clouds have formed, swirled about into a black-and-white mush by high-speed winds.

"Could be good. I can't remember having rain since…before."

Hotch nods. "Yeah, but…what's in the clouds? You're seeing this, right?"

Dean strains his eyes, subconsciously biting the inside of his cheek as he examines the sky. Suddenly, his eyes widen.

"_Sam!"_

His brother turns at Dean's urgent call, face concerned. "Yeah, Dean?"

Dean only gestures to the horizon, features intent. "Look familiar to you?"

Sam's expression is puzzled but for a moment before it turns to one of frightened comprehension.

"Crap. Hey! Everyone! We've gotta go!"

Penelope runs to Hotch's side. "Aaron, what's going on?"

He frowns, looking to Dean. "I'm not sure. Dean?"

Sam has returned by now, and he is the one to answer, his tone dark and quivering. His one word is explanation, and enough incentive to spur their entire group into running south.

"Demons."

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

_A/N: Not too bad, I hope?_


	3. Split

_A/N: Wow! What a wonderful response. You all are amazing, and I'm so glad you're all intrigued-I'll try to keep it going! _

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

They thought the disasters were over. But there's always one more thing, isn't there? It's impossible, even or perhaps especially after the world's end, for anything to be easy. There's always one more stumbling block that hinders you; keeps you completely from reaching your goal. Only now, it's even worse, because none of them quite know what their goal is. They only know they must run.

But running's a chore now, because the tremors have started again, opening deep, deep rifts in the ground and exposing the earth's entrails. Some go down into long-forgotten cities, buried years past. Some open into unused sewer lines. All are dangerous. All are nearly impossible to dodge.

"Try to stick together, guys! Splitting up would be really counterproductive at the moment!" Sam manages to yell, grabbing Dean's arm tight at a particularly violent shake. It's like the world is expressing its anger at the way it's been treated as of late.

"He's right!" Dean agrees, gravelly voice barely louder than the soil's music. "We're ten times safer as a group."

But that's not going to go down well.

"The chances of avoiding every crevasse are highly unlikely." Reid meant to say it under his breath, but apparently it's louder than he thought, because Sam responds pretty quickly.

"You've gotta stay positive. Morale is the most important thing in a mi—"

Multiple shouts ring out simultaneously—_ "Garcia!" "Spence!" "Sammy!"_

The crack came out of nowhere. Dean immediately drops, yelling his brother's name again and reaching out a hand, but there's nothing to be found. He's about to despair when something catches his eye. Stone. There's stone beneath him—not soil or dirt. They must've fallen into a buried city—people started moving underground when the disasters started. It didn't help, as they were buried alive when the ash and soil began falling from the sky and closing their exits. Dean dismisses the images in his mind and holds onto the one bright spot.

The three who fell down there were probably three of their smartest, and they're only in a city. If nothing else, Sam will find a way to come back to him. Dean's sure of it.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

Sam isn't sure what the pop is when he first hears it. He's not even sure what happened. But as hot agony runs up his left forearm and dirt rains down on him from above, he realizes. The quake—they fell into a crevasse. And apparently… he landed on his arm. Sam swears softly, cradling the injured limb to his chest. He'll examine it later. He hears shouts from above. Names. So he's not the only one who fell.

"Hey… guys? Spencer? Penelope? You hear me? …Guys!"

There's no answer for a moment, and the people above are beginning to move on. Sam's glad. The thought that he won't find them later doesn't even cross his mind.

"Sam?"

A frightened voice reaches his ears.

"Penelope? Where are you?"

"O-over here. I'm stuck."

"Are you hurt?"

"No… but I can't see. This—this isn't cool." She sounds terrified. Sam thinks she must be their tech girl. She obviously doesn't get out into the field much. But he likes her; she's got spunk.

"All right, it's okay. Just…just keep talking to me. I'll get to you. Did you see Spencer? I think he fell, too."

"No… no. Oh, no. What if he… I mean, did he… It was a long drop, oh, no, do you think he's okay? Oh, no, Spencer. Spencer? Spence! Reid, where are you?"

Sam closes his eyes momentarily. "Hey, Garcia?"

She pauses. "Yeah, Sam?"

"I'm sure he's fine. He's smart. Why don't you let me find you first, then we can look for Spencer?" He's not trying to be patronizing, and hopes it doesn't sound that way.

"All right."

She doesn't seem fazed.

"Okay, so, keep talking. Am I getting any closer? I can't really—augh!" Sam halts, crying out, as his unadjusted eyes fail to keep him from running his injured wrist straight into a column.

"Sam? What happened? Are you okay? You're hurt, aren't you? Why didn't you tell me? Are you okay?"

Sam doesn't answer for a minute, trying to get himself under control by simply breathing through his teeth. Man, that _smarts_.

"S-sorry, Penelope. I'm—I'm okay. I'm good."

There's a moment of silence. Then a snort.

"Bullcrap. Tell me the truth."

Sam grins. He really does like her. "I hurt my wrist in the fall. Really, it's not that bad, just hit it on something. Hey, wait a minute…I think I see you. Wave your arm."

She does, and Sam grins. "Found you. Hold on a sec."

Again, she does, and in a moment, Sam's dirtied face is blocking the meager light from above. She smiles.

"Hey there."

Sam chuckles. "Hey. How you doing?"

"I'm fine. Just a little buried. Care to give some help, dear knight?"

A grin forms on Sam's otherwise haggard face. "Absolutely, fair lady." Man, it's been too long since he wasn't serious.

"…Guys?"

The hoarse voice doesn't register at first, but when it does, the response is immediate. Penelope beams.

"Reid?"

"…Penelope? That you?"

The smile quietly fades. That response was far too slow, especially for Reid.

"Spencer…are you okay?"

Sam silently begins working on the beam that's on top of the rubble pile holding Penelope down. His wrist screams at every small movement, but it's incredibly hard removing the pile with only one hand. Biting his lip hard, Sam reaches for a rock with both, but halts at a movement beside him.

"Sam?"

"Oh. Hey, Reid. You all right?"

"Fine. I fell ahead of you…got a little lost in some tunnel thing. Hard to hear back there. But I'm fine. What about you? I can't see well, but that wrist doesn't look too good."

"Don't you dare lie this time, Sam."

That's Penelope. Sam sighs. "I landed on it. But I swear, it's fine. Probably just a bad sprain, nothing more. Here, help me get Penelope out."

"That _would _be nice," Garcia allows, wiggling her hips the slightest bit. "This is a little uncomfortable."

Sam glances to Reid with a smile. "Well let's see if we can change that."

They start at it. It's not as bad as it looks, and diminishes quickly. As soon as it's gone, Reid and Sam help pull Penelope up. She shakes out a bit, groaning in relief.

"Thank you soo much. You have no idea how claustrophobic I was getting in there." Before Sam can say anything, she turns to him with a maternal glare. "Now let me look at that wrist."

Sam sighs, but steps into the light, holding up his left arm. It looks worse in the light, slightly bruised and a tiny bit swollen, but Sam is used to it. Apparently, Penelope is not. It seems she doesn't see many wounds that aren't on the computer…or, at least, personally. Or maybe it's just the end times getting to her.

"Oh…that doesn't look good."

"It's not that bad," Sam insists, pulling off his already bloodstained jacket and picking up two suitable sticks from the ground to use as a splint. "Really. I've had much worse."

Reid frowns. "Your job sounds worse than ours."

Sam just shakes his head. "I'll bet."

"So, where are we?" Penelope starts talking again, glancing around with a worried look. "How do we get out of here?"

"Follow the path. We'll find an exit and meet up with the rest of the guys. Dean and I have been in worse situations than this, we'll be fine. Just gotta find an out."

Without a moment's hesitation, Sam starts off down the nearest path, almost surprised to find the two agents trailing him. He supposes it's easier to trust someone when they're possibly the only other person in the world.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

The demons are still after them, and Dean is starting to worry. There's nowhere to hide. He doesn't have the necessary protection—they were in a duffel that was lost during The Darkness. In a last hope, he turns and yells,

"You see a house or restaurant still standing, you yell, got it? We need salt, silver, maybe some other stuff."

The leftover team nods, as best as they can over the distant but growing rumble that's shaking the ground after their feet. The good part is it's not as bad anymore because the quakes finally stopped. The quakes. _Sammy_.

Dean never thought he could feel any more protective of Sam than he always had. But after…everything, after Hell, and Lucifer, and the friggin' _end of the world_, his feelings have gotten worse—better?—than ever. Even if it means there are a few more chick-flick moments than he'd like…

"Is that a Denny's?"

Dean halts in his tracks and thoughts, nearly causing Hotch to run into his back. He glances quickly around, taking in the dilapidated building with a horribly faded yellow-and-red sign hanging lopsidedly over the double doors. It seems so bizarre, with almost nothing around it, but Dean will take what he can get.

"All right, everyone inside! Grab the first silver thing you find, and look for the salt!"

The three agents with him do what he says without question, shoving the doors in and immediately beginning the search. Prentiss throws him a couple salt containers nearly thirty seconds later. Dean nods gratefully, if a little questioningly, at her, and starts pouring it everywhere—starting at the door and going all the way around the inside of the restaurant, then does the windows for good measure. He bites his lip, using a small knife to slit his palm and draws small blood sigils in the sills and doorjambs, and uses food dye to draw a large devil's trap on the ceiling just inside the door. After all, it's the Apocalypse, anything could happen. Last, he pulls out the blade strapped to his ankle, and looks up, only to find three very awed agents staring at him.

"I take it you do this a lot." Morgan.

Dean just nods. That's all he can do before the cloud approaches the door. Dean pivots around, blade held steady in front of him. A single figure emerges from the hovering, roiling pool of black, shaping itself into a distinctly female shape, without features but for a pair of fuzzy red eyes set somewhere back in the vaporous face.

"Dean Winchester. Aren't we lucky, to have found you, of all people. Not that there are many left." It makes a hissing sound that Dean guesses is supposed to be laughing.

"What do you want? And why don't you need vessels?"

It—she—steps up to the glass of the door, tapping on it with a convoluted claw. "Aww, come now, Dean, you're smarter than that. It's the Apocalypse—anything's possible. Now come on, aren't you gonna let me in?"

Dean balks. "Are you kidding me? How stupid do you think—"

She interrupts him with a fierce _sshh._ But her voice softens soon enough. "Wasn't talking to you, sweet cheeks."

Dean turns to see the agents staring, transfixed, at the head demon. They honestly look like they're considering her. And as Dean watches in horror, Prentiss begins walking forward, as if to follow the demand.

"Hey!" He shouts. "Snap out of it!" He turns back to the demon, furious. "What are you doing? Cut it out!"

She only chuckles horribly, beckoning Emily closer. "That's right, dear, just swipe your foot along that pathetic little salt line there—won't do you much good, anyway. Oh, that devil's trap, too. Really, Dean? Food dye?"

Dean shoves Emily, aiming to either get her out of the trance or simply move her away, but she seems to hardly notice him, stumbling a moment then continuing on her deadly path.

"Agent Prentiss! Listen to me, you've gotta stop. Fight this and think. You're letting a _demon _into the only safe place we got." She keeps going, almost to the door now. Desperate, Dean grabs her arm. "Please. Stop. You're going to get us all killed. Think about your friends. The ones that are already dead—do you think they'd really want you to do this? You're committing suicide here!"

Finally, she stops, mere inches from the salt line. If she wants, she can just kick out and scatter it, and Dean knows she'll get the sigils, too. He maintains the grip on her arm, but lowers his voice.

"Emily, please. I need to get my brother back. Can't do that if I'm dead…or worse. Please."

After what seems an eternity, she turns, blinking slowly. Her eyes are glazed. "…Dean?"

That's all she gets out before collapsing.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

_A/N: Still intrigued?_ :]


	4. Of Strength and Will

_A/N: So, here's the new and improved Chapter four! The usual warnings and wishes of enjoyment to all._

~CM~SN~CM~SN~

Sam's becoming less optimistic. The tunnels, although there, are winding every which way, and even with his experienced tracking skills and practice, he really doesn't know what to do when they come to a fork in the road. Plus, his whole body is aching, and he can't stop to rest.

"Uh, any suggestions?"

Reid leans against the wall, sighing. "They were heading north when we fell…"

Sam nods, not acknowledging the fact that they don't really know which way north is at the moment. He straightens a bit.

"Well, maybe-… is that a draft?"

Penelope, who's been uncharacteristically silent the past half mile, now speaks. "I feel it, too! Does that mean…"

Sam grins. "Yep. We're going right." He starts off confidently enough, but upon seeing the movement in his peripheral vision—pale, gaunt, fast, and most definitely not Reid or Garcia—he changes tactics. "Down!"

Both agents immediately drop while Sam pulls out the gun that had formerly been in his waistband and fires twice into the shadows beyond the path. A thin screech echoes, and Sam shoves the weapon away, already reaching down to pull Garcia up.

"We have to get going. Now."

But she doesn't move with Sam and Spencer when they begin the trek. Instead, she's still staring into the dark.

"Wh-what was that?"

Sam halts, taken aback for a moment. "Wait, you mean you guys haven't come across the… the creatures yet?"

"What do you mean, creatures? This isn't I Am Legend."

"No." Sam turns away. "Worse."

That silences her, and without so much as a peep, she turns and follows the two men heading towards what they sorely hope is freedom.

They don't get far, though, before the ambush begins.

~SN~CM~SN~CM

Dean catches Prentiss before she hits the floor and turns back, seeing the other agents snap out of whatever trance the demon chick had on them. Morgan takes Prentiss and gently sets her on a bench, looking incredibly shaken. Dean turns back to one very pissed-looking demon. As expected, though, her 'look' soon softens again.

"Dean Winchester… maybe I underestimated you."

"I get that a lot. You'd think you guys would've caught on by now, huh?"

Dean's really getting annoyed at that laugh now. "Yes, you'd think. But we never were fast learners. After all, we do follow one of the worst teachers in history."

"Yeah? I always thought he was _the_ worst."

"Oh, no, Dean… that'd be _your _daddy, wouldn't it?"

Dean just barely restrains himself from blasting through the door.

"There's a soft spot, huh?" She grins—at least, that's what Dean interprets from the smoke swirling in her face. "Everyone knows the only Winchester's weaknesses are each other. And since dear ol' Daddy's already gone, well… that only leaves one option, doesn't it?"

"You stay away from my brother!" For once in his life, Dean is seriously considering breaking a salt line, if only to get to the thing in front of him. He would spew Latin, but since they're not in vessels, he figures it won't do much good.

"I don't think you're in much position to give demands, Dean… after all, you're the one cowering in a dilapidated old restaurant while dear Sammy is fighting for his life underground… all alone…. Unprotected."

"He's not alone." Dean doesn't acknowledge anything else she's insinuating.

"Oh, of course, he has those… agents with him, yes? But they won't be much help, will they? They wouldn't even believe in us if, well, the apocalypse hadn't happened."

Dean refuses to answer, and she taps on the glass again. "Well, I'm getting bored here. Maybe I'll go find that precious… gifted brother of yours. By the way, did you ever think about the repercussions of the world ending on such a strong psychic? No, I didn't think so. See you soon, honey."

Before Dean can even scream an obscenity at her, she's gone. He swears and punches the door hard, spider webbing the glass and sending a hot pain up his forearm. He focuses on it, uses it to fuel his already-burning rage. The agents behind him—Prentiss awake now—stare, mouths slightly agape.

"And you used to do this every day?" Emily asks, disbelief in her eyes. "I'm sorry about.. that… by the way. It just… got in my head." She shudders.

Dean just nods, eyes hard. "Yeah. I know the feeling."

Without another word, he begins packing up, shoving the gun back in his waistband and making sure his knife is secure.

"What are you doing?" Morgan questions, eyebrows drawn together.

"Going after Sammy. You heard what she said."

"Wait." Hotch now. "You're _following _the _demons_?"

"Not following, exactly, probably just going to the same place they are… hopefully first."

"Are you insane?"

That has Dean turning back to Prentiss, wide grin etched into his rugged features. "It's a possibility." He picks up everything he has—which, admittedly, isn't much. "Anyone comin' with?"

The three agents hesitate. Dean can see the struggle on their faces—they don't want to be left alone, and they really want to get to their friends, but… going after demons _is _a little crazy. If you haven't been doing it your whole life, that is. Slowly, Hotch nods.

"I don't see another choice."

Dean nods confidently back, and without leaving room for any more hesitation, strides out the door, hoping and praying with everything he's got that they won't be too late.

~SN~CM~SN~CM

Sam's heart stutters. They don't have enough to fight them off. How'd so many demons come out of nowhere, anyway? And why don't they need vessels? As if reading his mind, the one Sam discerns as a 'leader' of sorts steps toward him, running a smoky hand down his chest.

"Hey there, Sammy. Don't worry about us—your questions will be answered soon. Oh, and Dean sends his regards."

Unable to help himself, Sam grits back at her, "What did you do to my brother?"

"I'm not gonna lie to you, hon, he's safe. If a little disturbed. And isn't that quite the feat? Little old me, scaring the great Dean Winchester?"

Sam balls his right fist, jaw clenched. "Why are you here? What do you want with us?"

"Us?" She glances over Sam's shoulder at Reid and Garcia, waving her hand in dismissal. "Oh. Them. See, they don't really matter, _Sammy_. It's you we care about."

"Don't call me Sammy."

"Right. Only _Dean _can call you that, huh?"

"What are you going to do with them?"

"Why don't you take a guess, Sam? We have no use for them."

"If you kill them, don't ever think I'll go with you."

"And what makes you think you have a choice?"

Sam begins reaching for his gun with what he hopes is a surreptitious movement. "You obviously came down here for a reason—for me. If you could've just poofed me out, you would have done it already. So I can only assume that you need me to come willingly, or you wouldn't be here."

The demon steps back. "Here's the deal, Winchester. Have you even tried to use your powers since The End started?"

Sam blinks. "N-no. Of course not. I don't have them anymore."

"Right. That's what you think. I bet you didn't even try it after you climbed from the pit. Heck, you haven't tried the real stuff since you died the _first _time. How do you think you got out? You're stronger than even Lucifer hoped, Sammy, and you can't deny it. Why don't you live up to it?"

"I don't have powers," Sam spits out slowly. "Now I don't know what you want from me, but you're not going to get it anyway, so I suggest you just get the heck out of here before I kill every single one of you." He steps up in the Demon's face, gun out and drawn in a millisecond.

"And _I _suggest you don't be so hasty." She gestures behind him.

Tentatively, Sam glances back, and swears viciously. One of her cohorts has grabbed Dr. Reid, and is holding a jet black talon right up to his jugular.

"Come with me or I give the order to slit his throat right now."

Sam glances around to see Penelope by a pillar, face ashen and quivering. He doesn't blame her. The first time he saw something Supernatural he wet his pants. Still, Sam wishes he had some backup. The ache in his chest simply from Dean not being beside him is growing exponentially.

"I'm _waiting, _Sammy."

Sam snaps his gaze back to the form in front of him, and slowly raises his hands, dropping the gun.

"That's better." She nods, and something materializes beside him—another demon—and swiftly grabs his arms, twisting them sharply up behind his back.

He struggles instinctively as best as he can, but it's no use. The thing is strong—especially in this form. Speaking of…

"You said my questions would be answered. Why don't you need a vessel? Is this your true form?"

The main demon floats toward him, now-visible fangs showing through her translucent layers. "You could say that. It's what we most often look like in Hell, if that's what you mean."

Sam nods. He doesn't know, exactly, what to expect, and that's killing him. Head hanging, Sam begins to shuffle forward when the group starts moving, but then a shout rings out, and Sam thinks it might be the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. _Dean._

"Sam!"

Hope swells in his chest, the only thought in his mind a wish he was free and with Dean _now_, and the lead demon jerks suddenly, as if hit by an invisible force. She turns toward him, furious. "What did you do?"

Genuinely confused, Sam cocks his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She stalks back toward him. "Don't give me that. You used them. You used them!" She turns away for a moment. "Go back!" Back to him now. "I knew you were lying. You've known all along, haven't you? But little Sammy always has been a drama queen."

Still baffled, Sam starts to ask a question when the form in front of him suddenly disperses.

"Dean!"

His brother is standing there, knife held firmly in his hand—iron and inlaid with salt. She's not dead, but she probably won't be coming back for awhile. Their weapons are working differently now that the demons aren't in vessels.

"Sammy. Are you alright?" Dean quickly dispatches the demon holding Sam's arms in place, and he almost falls, but Dean puts a supporting hand on his shoulder, frowning when he glances down.

"What happened?" He gingerly pats his brother down, checking for any major wounds.

"Nothing major, just landed hard. I don't think anything is even sprained."

Accepting the answer, Dean pivots in the tunnel. After he killed the chick, the rest of the group pretty much disappeared, apparently useless without a commander. He chuckles.

"Well, that was weird. I didn't think demons hunted in packs."

"You learn something new every day." Sam agrees, but his eyes suddenly widen. "Oh, crap." He turns around and sprints back the way he came. "Hey, Reid! … Penelope?"

Spinning and seeing nothing, Sam's heart sinks. But then, a scuffling in the corner, and Garcia pokes her head around the column, grinning sheepishly.

"Does that mean you guys won?"

Sam smiles back. "You could say that. Where's Reid?"

"Right here." A weary voice from a dark wall. He steps into the light, looking dirty and exhausted, but none the worse for wear. _Thank God. _

The agents that had been following Dean run down to their teammates, a joyful but somewhat subdued reunion taking place, an air of disbelief shrouding the group. Sam half-smiles at his brother, gripping his shoulder hard. But a crease soon appears on his brow.

"Hey… the demon chick said something about you. She said… I don't know. What happened?"

"We were holed up in a Denny's and she came and tried to talk me out of it. Almost got Agent Prentiss to open the door, too… put her in some freaky trance thing."

Sam cocks an eyebrow. "Freaky trance thing?"

Dean nods, shrugging. "Yeah, I don't know. Said she… got in her head. I believe it, too. She was about to break the salt line when I got through to her."

Sam is about to say something, but apparently decides against it, shaking his head. "Alright. Let's get out of here. If I never see an underground city again, it'll be too soon."

Dean nods his agreement and beckons the agents forward, leading the way on. He trudges up the steep pathway, humming The Killers '_When You Were Young'_. Sam sends him an amused look, but says nothing. The elder Winchester sighs at his younger brother's complete ignorance of the finer things in life. Except… maybe not so much. He did seem to recognize the tune… Before Dean can turn and needle Sam about it, his brother's sharp, pained gasp echoes through the tunnel and Dean is turning to grab his elbows and support without even thinking about it.

Taking in Sam's pinched grimace and short breaths, his hands grabbing Dean's forearms in a painfully tight grip, Dean heart drops hard.

"Sam. Hey, what's goin' on? Sammy?"

Sam doesn't reply, only grits his teeth and falls against the tunnel wall, pulling his hands away from Dean and up to his head, one on either side. Dean swears as Sam sinks down, rocking as he hits the floor. Dean recognizes the signs well. They really can't get a break, can they?

_Dirt. Screaming. Blood. Pain. _

_There are people everywhere, running out of their decimated homes and away from the collapsing center of the cavern, only to be hit by another falling rock or buried by a cascade of dirt. The exit is closing in, blocking all hope of escape, and people are still running, crying, grabbing each other…. _

_There are houses everywhere, built into the rock, made to last… and every one of them is falling in, collapsing over each other like so many dominoes. There is light, and darkness, and so much blood…_

Sam exits the vision with a hoarse cry, the light fading, the pain receding, leaving only a throbbing echo. He slumps wearily against Dean, who by now has knelt next to him, and fists a hand in the comforting leather of his jacket.

The agents are watching in shock.

"What just happened?" Penelope whispers, shock and fear and maybe awe in her voice.

"I'm not sure…" Reid replies, surveying the scene with eyes that are somehow sharp and soft at the same time.

Dean pulls Sam into him, running a hand through hair that needed a wash five days ago. He holds the still-trembling form tight, eyes closed. He thought this was over. What happened?

"Sammy… was that a vision?"

Sam sighs. "Yeah… but I don't think it was of the future. I think… it already happened. I saw when this city collapsed."

Dean is silent for a moment. "Why?"

"I don't know." Sam breathes slowly, concentrating on steadying the erratic rhythm. _In… out… in… out. _"I thought they were gone." He doesn't have to say what.

"Me, too. Well maybe it's for the best. Can you… do anything else?"

Sam blinks at him, and then turns his gaze away, to a rock. As he squints, it begins to tremble, then suddenly shoots into the air. His eyes widen, and he turns to Dean in shock.

"That would be a yes."

Dean looks just as surprised as Sam. "All right." He pulls his brother up, keeping a supportive arm around his back and turning to the very shocked and confused agents.

"My brother's sort of a psychic," Dean blurts, much to Sam's chagrin.

"Dean," he groans.

"Well, it's true."

"Wait." Prentiss speaks up. "A _psychic? _Like, tell the future type psychic? Or bend spoons type psychic?"

"Both." Sam fists his hand tighter in Dean's jacket, a short breath escaping his white lips. Dean tightens his hold. "It's a long story that I can't tell right now. Can we just get to the surface, please?"

Prentiss bites her lip, turning back to her team mates, but nods. "Yeah. Sounds good."

They start the trek again, soon finding their way out, through a small crack that probably appeared during the same tremors that sent them beneath. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief in the clean air, Dean helping Sam out of the ground and pulling him to a sitting position. He squints down at him, squatting, and runs a hand through his hair. Sam looks absolutely beat, face still pinched and ashen, breaths short. He seems exhausted.

"Are you alright?"

Sam takes a moment to answer. "Yeah. I'll be fine. I just… I'm not used to it, you know?"

Dean nods, eyes going to the horizon. "Mmmhmm. I'll bet. Well… maybe it's not all bad."

Sam blinks, turning to his brother. "I never said it was."

"Oh." Dean sounds surprised. "I just thought… after everything, you know…"

"Yeah. I get it. I just… this is a different world now. It might be helpful. I wish I'd known… when the demons were trying to take me. I think.. I could have stopped them."

Dean turns to him. "What? With your… tele-whatever stuff?"

Sam arches an eyebrow. "Telekinesis?" He snorts softly, rubbing at his eyes. "No. I don't think that's what it was."

Dean sits next to Sam, resting his feet on a large rock. "Don't think that's what _what _was, Sam?"

"When they were taking me away… We were in the tunnel, walking, and I heard you. I heard you yell, and it… I thought of you. And for a minute, I felt _happy, _because you'd found me and I'd be with you, and was… hopeful. And I think… I think I used my powers involuntarily. The lead chick… she spazzed. I didn't know what happened… but I think I get it now."

Dean's eyebrows crease. "I thought your _Shining _stuff was supposed to come from anger."

"Like I said, Dean… times have changed."

Dean simply nods, and lets comfortable silence rest in the air between them for awhile. But he soon turns back to Sam, standing and holding out a hand.

"Ready?"

"Yeah." Sam grabs the proffered hand and shakily stands, shutting his eyes for a brief moment. "So where are we going?"

"I don't know." Dean turns to the agents. "I was sort of thinking we could ask them."

Sam nods, starting over to the group and definitely not commenting on the hand Dean keeps on his back.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~


	5. Shaken, not Stirred

_A/N: Hello, all! So, sorry to inform you of this, but I've replaced Chapter four. It's nothing huge; in fact, all the changes are relatively minor. But if you wish to avoid future potholes, be my guest and go take a look. Obviously no obligation here. Oh, and at this point, this chapter on is unbeta'd. Until mine gets back to me, that is. I just didn't want to keep you all waiting. And apologies for the shortness of this part. I was actually planning to cut it off earlier, until I saw how short that was. So this is longer than the original chapter... I promise I'll make it up to you all. _

_Anyway, just FYI. Once again, thank you all so incredibly much for all your kind reviews, and I hope I continue to please._

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

Reid is more than a little shaken, Hotch can tell. His face hasn't yet regained his color, his limbs are trembling, and he's hardly said a word since Hotch has seen him. All in all, he's being definitively unlike Reid.

"Spence. You alright?"

Apparently Morgan is thinking the same thing.

"Ah, yeah… fine." Reid brushes them off, almost flippantly, shocking both men. And before either man can protest, the young genius is off, long legs taking him off at a fast trot.

Morgan starts to go after him, but Hotch lays a hand on his arm. "No. Let him go… he needs a minute. Just… keep him in sight. I'm going to check on Penelope. You good just watching?"

Derek simply nods, gaze still following the lanky figure. When he speaks, his voice is rough. "Yeah. I'm good."

Hotch nods and turns on his heel, finding Garcia perched on a rock, Prentiss next to her with an arm around her shoulders. Hotch moves to approach, but sees the two women are already talking and backs off. Best to let them be.

Absently wondering what happens next, he figures he'll find the Winchesters. An odd team, those two. Hotch has seen plenty of sibling pairs over the years, and absolutely none of them had the connection Dean and Sam seem to. Granted, most of the ones he saw were serial killers, but he figures that doesn't affect the bond. Rather, it seems to strengthen it. But that's beside the point. The thing with these two is they're always unpredictable in every way but one—they'd both obviously give their life for one another. And he suspects, for some strange reason, that maybe they already have.

In any case, Hotch figures they're the best people to go to in this situation, and thinks the team is lucky to have found them.

He starts as he turns around, though, to find Sam already heading for him. Maybe the psychic thing has some merit. Hotch shakes his head. How crazy have things gotten?

"Hey, Sam. Dean."

The brothers nod at him, and Hotch frowns, taking in Sam's pinched, white and ragged face.

"You all right?"

Sam gives him a tight smile. "Yeah. Fine. So, Dean and I were talking, and uh… Well… I mean, were you guys going any place in particular when we found each other?"

Hotch frowns. He wasn't quite expecting that. "No, not really. Just… wandering, I suppose."

"Ah." Sam shifts awkwardly, obviously still not completely comfortable around the agent. "All right… we just… don't really know where to—aaugh!" Sam stops mid-sentence, dropping to his knees with both hands gripping his head.

Hotch, shocked, doesn't have time to do anything before Dean is there, suddenly in front of him, gripping Sam's shoulders so tightly it looks painful, but Hotch knows it isn't. Sam groans, a low, agonized sound, and Hotch feels his heart tighten in sympathy for the boy. He hears Dean muttering to him, comforting words even as his body language tell how worried—even pissed—he is. Sam has fallen unresponsive, and Hotch almost moves in to help until he remembers the same thing happened in the tunnel. Another vision? And so soon?

Hotch turns away, giving the brothers their privacy.

Dean is swearing under his breath, pulling Sammy closer but not too tight or he'll freak when his trance snaps. _It's not fair,_ Dean thinks. What did they do to deserve this? They finally saved the world, and then it has to go and end anyway. Now this? Their lives could just never be easy!

"D…Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy… right here." He pulls away slightly. "You alright?"

Sam rolls his eyes, hands shaking violently even as he tries to hide them in his sleeves. "Just peachy." His eyes close briefly, jaw clenched. "Dean, I saw… Saw…"

Dean frowns. Sam's really shaken up about this. "Take your time, Sammy."

The younger Winchester leans into his brother, taking comfort in the familiar warmth and silent strength. His breaths come short, strained, echoes of the vision still tormenting his already-taxed brain. But an urgency sits unwell with him… they have to hurry.

"Dean…I saw… its… its Adam. He's still alive!"

~SN~CM~SN~CM

Dean rears back at the unexpected news, eyes widening. He hadn't even known Adam had made it… out of the pit. "A-… adam? What—where—what did you see? Where is he? Is he alright? Is he going to…"

Sam shuts his eyes at the barrage of questions, struggling to recall details through the haze of pain. Dean, realizing Sam's still getting it together, takes a breath and tries to hold in his queries for now. He runs a hand through Sam's hair, sighing deeply, and his brother matches his breath before speaking.

"It wasn't… normal. I mean, he wasn't in danger, I don't think. At least, nothing immediately life-threatening. Valley Inn? Room… 213. He looked… scared. And lonely." Sam turns to Dean, urgency suddenly written over his pale features. "We have to find him, Dean! We have to go, now, before… We have to go!"

He struggles to stand, tripping over his own feet and nearly falling before Dean catches him.

"Whoa, hey there, Tiger. Take it slow. I mean, we don't even know where this Inn place is, and we still have to gather everyone." At Sam's weary, longing look, Dean lets out a quick breath, putting a firm hand on Sam's shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll find him, I promise. We've just gotta get gathered first."

Sam nods, sighing deeply. "Yeah. Alright. Yeah."

Dean turns away, squeezing once before letting his hand drop from Sam's shoulder. He glances around, seeing only two members of the profiler team. Frowning, Dean starts a light jog over the nearby hill, scanning the ground. Finally, he finds what he's looking for. Hotch, Morgan, and Reid are all standing around a broken bench, apparently in deep conversation. Shrugging, Dean heads back over to Penelope and Garcia, slowing as he reaches the two women.

"Uh… hey guys," he starts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. Funny, usually he'd be all for approaching women… but it seemed like they were talking.

"Oh, hey Dean," Penelope replies, rising. "We leaving?"

Dean's eyebrow raises. "Yeah, actually." He grins. "What, we got two psychics now?"

Garcia grins right back, playfully swatting at Dean's arm. "Naw. Just remember, we're profilers. So why now? Did we find a destination?"

Dean grows serious quite suddenly, all mirth draining from his face. "You could say that. Sammy… he had another vision."

"Oh." The word drops from Penelope's lips, and as she pales, Prentiss suddenly appears beside her, slinging an arm over the shaken woman's shoulders. Emily takes over the conversation.

"So soon?"

Dean nods. "Yeah. He saw, um… our brother."

Prentiss draws back, brow drawn. "Brother? You have another one?"

"Well, yeah. It's, um… a long story. But Sam saw him, in some hotel, and he, well, he's really anxious to get out of here."

Prentiss nods in understanding. "Alright. I'll gather the boys and we'll head out. You get back to Sam."

Dean nods gratefully, spinning on his heel and heading back to his brother. Or at least, where he left him. Dean starts sprinting when Sam doesn't appear in his sight.

"Hey! Sam?... _Sammy!_"

Dean curses violently and turns, spotting an impossibly tall figure loping away towards a distant hill.

"Sam! What are you doing? Hey! Sam!"

If Sam hears Dean, he doesn't acknowledge him, if anything, going faster. Dean swears again, starting almost a litany under his breath, and pours on the speed, wondering what in the world his brother is thinking. Gaining on Sam now, Dean tries calling out again, but Sam doesn't even flinch, and Dean uses the burst of worried agitation to use as fuel, reaching Sam and grabbing his arm.

"What the crap, Sam?"

But when his brother turns to Dean, he is shocked to see the river of tears streaming off his cheeks; to feel the violent tremors running even down his arm. Dean's stony face immediately collapses, grip on Sam's arm loosening.

"Sammy?"

"We-we have to go, Dean. We've gotta find him. We have to go." Apparently feeling that message is enough, Sam begins to turn away again, even now tugging his arm from Dean's grasp, only to have it immediately replaced, a bit firmer.

"Hey. Sam." The younger brother continues still. "_Sammy_." He stops, and turns again to his older relation, not even trying to hide his sobs.

Dean balls his hand into a fist _this is so screwed up_ and pulls his brother close, putting that same hand on the back of his head, letting him cry in a messed up throwback to their younger days.

"Sammy… Listen. Hey, listen. Sam." Dean waits until Sam looks up at him, bloodshot eyes holding his in a desperate grip. It nearly cracks Dean's heart, and he wonders how things ever got like this. "We're _going _to find Adam. He's going to be fine, I. Promise. But we have to wait for the agents. They can help us. Besides, what were you planning on doing, running in there half-cocked? You know that's not what Dad and I taught you."

Sam pulls back, running a hand down his face. "Yeah. You sure didn't." He turns his gaze to the horizon for a moment, and in that moment Dean sees a flash of an expression-Fear, maybe. Or some dark determination, mixed with horror. It's gone so quickly Dean almost can't place it. But it scares him, more than anything else these days.

"I'm sorry." The words come quickly, as do the next ones, leaving Dean no room to reply. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Dean. I can't… I don't…" He turns back, and if Dean thought his heart was broken before, the look on Sam's face then shattered it. "Everything is so wrong. I can't even control… I'm sorry. Everything is wrong."

"And apparently you're a broken record." Dean shakes his head, slapping a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Hey. It's okay. Everyone freaks out sometimes. Well, everyone but me." Sam rolls his eyes. "Anyway, we should get back to the agents. They're gonna think we ditched 'em."

Sam nods. "Yeah. Sorry."

"Hey." Dean turns Sam so he's looking in his eyes. "Don't say that. Wasn't your fault."

"Right. Well… let's go."

They hurry back over the crest of the hill to see the five agents gathered where Dean left Prentiss and Garcia, and when the former spots them, she waves and turns to the others, obviously pointing out their return. The two brothers glance at each other before hurrying off to the little group they've become surprisingly close to in a remarkably short time.

~SN~CM~SN~CM

_A/N: Too much? Too little? Only you can say… :] _


	6. Reunion

_A/N: I apologize in advance for a few things... One, the length. It's really short, but I couldn't resist ending it where I did. And this lead to my second sorry-I've always been one for cliffies. :) Also, Reid fans: don't kill me! *Slight spoiler alert here*: he's my favorite. I won't kill him... _

~CM~SN~CM~SN~

Detroit. He was in freaking Detroit-the one place they'd sworn never to go to again.

The profiling team-God knows how-had managed to get Sam to remember more details of his vision, and as it turned out, there'd been more writing at the bottom of the hotel sign.

"So how're we gonna get there? We aren't exactly a walk in the park away."

It's Reid who answers. "There was a town a few miles back-we could pick up a couple cars."

All eyes turn to the young scientist. Silence reigns for a moment.

"You're suggesting we… _steal _them?" Prentiss finally queries, incredulity soaking her tone.

Reid cocks his head, brow drawn. "They're not owned now. Its not stealing if no one's there to steal from."

The agents are silent. Dean doesn't seem to notice, already picking up the bag earlier found to stow their meager belongings.

"He's right. Let's go."

Making sure Sam is behind him, Dean sets off, completely oblivious to the agent's shaken looks.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

As it happens, they don't even have to go all the way to the town. They find a road to walk along, and there are cars strewn all over the sides. Dean's face nearly splits in half as he spies a '74 Chevy Nova, bright red, just sitting there. Practically sprinting to it, Dean runs a hand over the hood, briefly closing his eyes before gleefully bending down to begin hotwiring the vehicle. Sam watches with a smile that's both peaceful and sad, staring at his brother's excited form with an achingly tender gaze. The team almost feels as though they are intruding on a private moment, but it soon passes as Dean pulls himself out of the car, turning to the team.

"'Kay. We got _our _wheels. How about you?"

Hotch shrugs. "May as well use this. It's the closest." He points to the car sitting just down and across the road from the Nova.

Sam snorts at the grimace that grows on Dean's face when he realizes that the car is a Dodge. Muttering to himself, he slips through the already-open passenger-side door and slides to the driver's, hunkering down under the panel.

"He certainly has a thing for cars, doesn't he?" Garcia asks, seeming somewhat mesmerized by Dean's half-incoherent ramblings floating from the Dodge.

"You could say that." It comes from Sam almost in a sigh, eyes glazed over as though he's somewhere far away-and Garcia suspects he is.

These boys have so many unexplained aspects to them. Both seem as though they carry the weight of the world on their shoulders-and she's not quite sure if that's diminished or increased by said weight pretty much blowing up in their faces. But, whatever the case, she's also not sure that it matters… as long as they're together. They've been through rough times, that much is obvious, but what's even more blatant is the inbred need for one another, an incredibly rough, familial, complete, _pure_ love that she can't even wrap her mind around.

Soon, though, Garcia is pulled from her musings as Dean emerges from the Dodge, seemingly all too eager to get out of the vehicle.

"Alright, let's get a move on! Don't know about you guys, but I'm sick and tired of just standing around. So… I say…" he pauses, standing by the open door of his newly-acquired and beautifully rumbling car. A grin spreads across his face, his joy almost tangibly spreading through the air to Sam, who contributes his own shy smile to the mix. "Thunderbirds are _go!_"

With a whoop, he swings into his seat, slamming the door shut and shoving the gas pedal down, sending the sleek machine shooting down the deserted blacktop. With nothing but an amused grin, Morgan shakes his head and forces open the slightly-bent door of the team's Dodge, glancing in the mirror to just make sure everyone's settled, then taking off right after Dean.

The two cars meet up eventually, and slow down just slightly to a more reasonable pace. Dean is simply ecstatic, finally on the road again, with a goal in mind, and his brother beside him. Things couldn't seem to get much better. And Sam is still feeding off his brother's joy, content for no other reason than because his brother is. That's all he's ever needed. Occasionally spouting directions, Sam begins to finally relax, easily fitting into the role of passenger. Sure, the seat isn't nearly as familiar or comfortable or _home_ as the Impala-no car ever could be-but for the first time in what honestly feels like decades, everything feels like it just might turn out okay.

All that's missing is the 80s rock music.

Of course, right as Sam has that thought, Dean is reaching for the radio controls. Sam almost tells him to give it up before he's disappointed, but something inside him keeps him from doing so, and, miraculously, Dean spins the dial and lands on a station somehow still broadcasting: clear, loud, and perfect.

_I'm lookin' to the sky to save me_

_Lookin' for a sign of life_

_Lookin' for something to help me get it right_

_And I'm lookin' for a complication_

_Lookin' 'cause I'm tired of trying_

_Make my way back home and learn to fly._

And despite what they're headed toward and how that happened, despite the desolation around them and growing storm clouds to the east, neither brother has been happier in a very long time.

O o o O

They finally reach the inn, and a growing feeling of uneasiness has settled into Dean's gut. He knows Adam will be here, he doesn't doubt Sam… but perhaps that's why everything just feels _wrong._ Like nothing good could come out of this. Sure, they're getting to their brother, what could be bad about that, but still… Dean's intuitions are rarely, if ever, wrong. But he says nothing, because Sam looks so earnest and even excited now, and because Dean really doesn't want to redo the hill incident. Ever.

So he goes along, every sense on hyper-alert, eyes never sticking on one thing for more than two seconds before hopping to the next possible hiding place.

"Sammy."

The whisper draws his siblings gaze, and Dean frowns at the uncertainty he now sees there. He decides not to comment.

"Room number?"

Sam rubs his lips together, looking off to the side like he always does when he's trying to remember something. Then, the spark. Dean almost smiles.

"18."

Dean simply nods, taking point. Sam slinks along right behind him, the team, Spencer starting, quietly following him, Hotch on their sixes.

Soon enough, the bronze plate on the door is staring Dean in the face, and he takes a breath before nodding to Sam, who automatically slips to the right side of the door. Tentatively reaching out, Dean knocks.

Nothing happens.

A crease growing ever deeper between his brows, Dean tries again. When he is greeted by silence once more, Dean grabs the knob and turns it slowly, swinging the door open and stepping to the side. And it's a good thing he does, as an arrow whistles by him, centimeters away. Dean growls, debating whether to attack or go on the defensive, when two things happen at once. Adam appears in the door, pale and silent, and a choking sound from behind him grabs Dean's attention.

He turns to find Spencer Reid, looking shocked as he falls against the wall, arrow buried in his stomach.

Well.

_Crap._

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

_Okay? _


	7. What Was

_A/N: So, sorry for the wait. RL sucks. But to make up for it, this one's much longer than the last, and actually has some pretty happy parts. XD The story about Adam, Sam, and Hell (at least, my version of it) is finally unfolded in this chapter. Hope it pleases!_

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

After glancing to Adam to make sure he's not going to attack or fall apart, Dean snaps into First Aid mode, seeing Sam has already caught Reid and is awkwardly trying to maneuver him into some type of hold. Quickly switching the light in the hotel room on-what the crap was Adam doing in the dark anyway?-Dean steps over to help, transferring the light body into a two-man carry. Spencer chokes, then groans, and Dean clenches his jaw against a sudden tightness in his throat. Just freakin' great.

"Just calm down, Kid. We've got this. You'll be alright."

"M' not a kid," he whispers, and Dean snorts, glancing to a very worried and for some reason guilty-looking Sam before setting Reid on the bed.

The rest of the agents quickly gather around, and Sam figures it'll be okay to slip away just for a moment.

"So, Adam," He begins once he's away, looking to their younger brother while Dean hurries to the bathroom to check for anything they could use. "What the crap?"

"I'm sorry!" It bursts from the quivering young man, and that seems to be the cork that was holding a waterfall back. He starts gushing, not pausing even long enough for Sam to slip something in. "I didn't know! I mean, I didn't see you or Dean, and there was just this guy here who I didn't know, and I was sorta freaked, what did you expect me to do? I didn't know if he was, well, you know, alright or not, and I didn't actually mean to hit him like that, you just startled me and I slipped and oh man I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

"Adam!" Sam holds up his hands, then puts them both on his brother's shoulders. "Adam. Its okay, I-_we_," he inserts a glance to the group around the bed now staring at them here, "understand." The gaze turns questioning, and slowly, Hotch nods. "Its alright. Now calm down. We need help."

Adam closes his eyes briefly, leaning against the wall and pulling a hand down his face. "Yeah. Okay."

Sam nods, pulling the younger boy to the bed. He addresses the team. "I'm going on the assumption that none of you know how to deal with this?"

"We've all been trained in basic first aid," Prentiss starts, and Morgan finishes for her. "But no, nothing like this."

Another nod, sending flyaway brown locks bouncing. "Alright. I'm gonna need you to move away, then."

With a small clearing of the throat and yet another nod, Hotch moves away, an ashen-face Garcia under his arm. The other two follow, Morgan only after whispering something to Reid that puts an actual smile on his face. Sam looks to Dean as he comes out of the bathroom, and blinks as he sees the large red pack in his brother's hands.

"This yours?" Dean asks Adam, holding up the pack.

"Yeah." Adam rubs the back of his neck. "I, uh, gathered up a few things."

Dean turns to Reid, who's still lying on the bed, pain lines clear around his eyes and mouth. The older man opens the bag and his eyebrows rise.

"Holy crap. A few? What'd you do, jack a friggin' hospital?"

Adam doesn't answer, and Dean glances over to see his gaze cast suspiciously downward, lower lip pulled in between his teeth. Dean laughs, even while motioning Sam over to him. The younger brother immediately obeys, spying the assorted medical options within the bag and gaping. There seems to be everything in here-scalpel, stitches, cream, drugs, forceps… Sam grins. If only they had this five years ago…

"There morphine in here?"

"Should be." Adam comes over now, peering into the bag with a frown. He rummages around for a moment, before emerging victorious, a syringe and rubber-capped bottle in his hands. "Here we go."

Dean takes the items, and with expert hands, preps the drug. Sam is by the bed, scissors in hand. He glances apologetically up to Reid's grimacing face before taking hold of the bottom of his shirt. He cuts up past the wound, wincing in sympathy as Spencer stiffens when he pulls the sticky material away from the entry point.

"Sorry, man." He murmurs, grabbing the wet rag Dean is holding out to him.

"It's alright… understandable," Reid gasps, eyes closed again.

Dean comes up beside Sam, syringe in hand. "Ready?" The question is general; directed towards the man on the bed and the ones beside it.

Spencer nods, and turns his head away as Dean inserts the needle into his forearm with the utmost delicacy, needle neatly entering the skin. The moment the drug begins working is obvious, as Reid relaxes into the bed like a punctured balloon. Sam sets straight to work, cleaning off the point of injury while Dean turns to Adam.

"What kind of arrow is it?"

Adam looks confused for the briefest of moments before realization hits. He frowns. "Very simple. I made it, so its just… basically sharpened wood. No hooks, barbs, or any other… hindrances."

"Right." Dean nods and steps away, the picture of efficiency. With merely a nod to Sam, no communication needed, he grips the shaft of the makeshift arrow while Sam reaches into the med kit and pulls out a handful of gauze strips, tearing them out of their packages and holding them at the ready. One more nod, and Dean pulls, Adam on the other side of the bed holding Reid down, who is straining now, not even the morphine completely dulling the effects of having the object pulled from his torso.

Sam is ready when Dean completes the pull, practically pouncing forward with the gauze to soak up extra blood flow and help the process of forming clots. He glances sympathetically down at Spencer, smiling in encouragement.

"That was good. You're fine, it didn't hit anything vital. You're good."

Dean comes around with the suture kit, and finishes the job quickly, leaving Reid in a drugged stupor after they've cleaned up. The profiling team moves to gather around the bed as soon as the brothers leave it, but Sam holds up a cautioning hand.

"Listen, guys, he's drugged, tired, and just went through… well, that. He's gonna need a lot of energy to recover, so you should probably let him sleep for now."

None of the agents seem happy about it, but they all back off, Morgan and Garcia sitting on the opposite bed, Prentiss and Hotch taking up posts as well, all acting as sentries for the youngest member of their makeshift family. Sam smiles softly and Dean slaps his shoulder, following him out of the room and guiding Adam out with them by the elbow.

The Winchesters make their way into the very next room down the hall, Sam and Dean automatically flopping down on the same bed by the door, leaving Adam to blink once before taking the one on the right. He sighs.

"I'm so-"

He doesn't even finish before Dean butts in. "Shut your cakehole, dude. Wasn't your fault."

Sam nods in tired agreement, staggering to the bathroom door. He turns to his younger brother for a moment. "Does the water work in here?"

Adam pauses a moment, cocking his head with an almost unreadable expression, as if he's processing things. After a minute, he blinks again, twice in quick succession, before answering.

"Uh, yeah. I mean, its not the cleanest and the pressure sucks, but I think some people that were here before us did something to the…. Yeah. It works."

Sam simply nods before walking inside the small room and shutting the door, leaving Dean to stare at Adam, somewhat awkwardly.

"So… sorta thought you were dead. Wanna tell me what happened with that?"

Adam raises his hands high above his head, joints popping as he stretches. "Well, I'm assuming the same thing that happened to Sam."

Dean raises his eyebrows, as if in anticipation of Adam continuing, but the younger boy merely lays back on the flimsy bed, face troubled. Dean sighs.

"So, you're saying you have no idea."

Adam turns to him. "Yeah. Pretty much." He suddenly sits up, eyes intense. "Hey, have you talked to Castiel lately?"

"Cas?" Dean repeats, voice tinged with disbelief. "Haven't seem him since he magically reappeared after… you know."

After the fight in the graveyard, when Sam had sent himself and Adam to hell, everyone had expected life to go back to normal-at least, for most people. But that hadn't happened. Things continued to deteriorate, only now, there was no promise of the earth being ripped to shreds by a giant, heavenly fight.

Still, it had gotten bad… obviously. It took a while, but things kept happening. Disasters occurred more and more frequently, people started disappearing, monsters and demons were running rampant. Dean ended up going back on his promise to Sam. He'd gone to find Lisa… and never had. She and Ben weren't at the house, and Dean just didn't have the time, heart, or will to find them. For nearly a year, he'd gone around with Bobby, slaying everything they could find with a viciousness that probably would've scared Sam, had he been around. But he wasn't, so Dean didn't give a crap.

Until. Until that day. When his brother had just popped up out of nowhere, with everything seemingly in order but for an unfortunate case of selective amnesia. Dean had just been going into the kitchen after a long day of hunting a shifter, when the door had simply swung open and Sam had been standing there, a confused expression on his face. Dean had been frozen, a million thoughts cycling through his mind, telling him to just shoot right now, but the look… it was so _Sam._

His bloodshot eyes had traveled to Dean, brow furrowed deeply, and he'd whispered 'found you' before toppling to the floor. Or, almost to the floor. Dean had dropped the book he'd been carrying and instinctively caught the tall form before it could crash to the ground. That's when he knew. He couldn't explain, and didn't even try when Bobby came in and saw the two on the ground, Dean openly weeping with the still-unresponsive Sam cradled in his lap (and for the life of him, Bobby couldn't figure out how Dean still managed to do that even when the younger boy was so much bigger). Dean just blinked and looked up at the older hunter, the sheer rawness in his face and actions saying all that he couldn't at that moment. And Bobby had taken it, without a word. He'd whipped up some strong-smelling herb crap and waved it at Sam, who'd awaken after breathing in the pungent aroma.

There'd been hugs, some resting, and then the next day, the questions came. But Sam hardly had any answers. He'd been in the pit, for sure, although he wasn't quite sure how long it had been before he'd just… woken up. Laying outside in the long-dead grass God-knows-where. From there it had just been a long journey to find Dean. Sam had no problem admitting that. As soon as he'd awaken-and Dean and Bobby ascertained that had been about the time the end had "officially" begun-meaning before The Darkness and after the disasters-he'd set off to find his brother. It had taken awhile, but Sam, always efficient and stubborn even after the horrors of Hell, had tracked him down. And there they were.

Dean takes a breath, shaking his head and breathing deeply to expel the remnants of emotion in his chest from that rocky time. He bites his lip.

"So, that's about how it happened."

Adam nods, licking his lips before running a hand over his face. "Sounds about the same as me. I was in Hell, then I wasn't, and I just… started moving. I came across a few people, but they, um, didn't make it." He pauses to blink hard here before continuing. "I, uh-" Suddenly he stops, face opening in an expression of something that looks like excitement mixed with disbelief. "Holy crap!" He jumps off the bed, walking over to the bathroom door. Inside, the water has stopped. "Sam! Come out!"

"Adam? What the heck?" Both older brothers yell out at simultaneously.

"I forgot about something! I- Just get out here! I… I need to show you something."

Dean is concerned, but Adam _does _sound excited and not scared, so he doesn't question further, just waits it out while Sam emerges from the bathroom, looking about as puzzled as he feels. Adam says nothing else, leading the two out of the hotel and around to the corner, where he stops, a grin quickly manifesting itself on his dirty features. He fishes around in his pocket before pulling out something shiny that looks very familiar. It registers to Sam and Dean at the same time, and the latter grabs the object out of Adam's hand while they both sprint, full tilt, the rest of the way around the building before stopping in awe of the item before them.

Sitting there, gleaming and proud in the middle of the parking lot, is the Impala, looking just as welcoming and like _home_ as ever.

They'd lost it some time ago, when it had run out of gas in the middle of nowhere. They'd already used their spare container up, and opted to walk along the road to find more, in their daze, stupidly leaving the key behind. When they'd returned, she was gone. They'd been searching ever since.

Dean is the first to walk forward, clearly trying to control his emotions as he runs a hand gently along the hood. Sam is right behind him, but doesn't actually touch her yet, just stares at the car and his brother, face somehow crumbling and open yet strong as stone all at once. After a minute, Dean turns back around, striding to Adam and practically lifting him off the ground in a fierce bear hug.

"Dude! Just, man! I love ya. I love ya, where'd you find her? Man…" Dean is pacing, beaming, and Adam laughs.

"Well, there were these two guys on the side of the road… you know, checking her out. It was just chance man, and I found them, about to get in. So I, uh, sorta claimed it. I mean, I thought…" He trails off, voice cracking. "Anyway. I took care of 'em, and now she's back to you, so it all worked out."

Dean nods, choosing not to acknowledge the break in the middle. He thanks Adam again, enthusiastically, and then lopes off, sliding inside the Impala and losing himself. Sam comes over, frowning.

"Wow, I feel like a jerk."

Adam turns to him, the seemingly random comment catching him off guard. "What? Why?"

Sam rubs the back of his neck, cheeks turning just the faintest shade of pink. "Well, when you said… about finding the Impala. …" He sighs, shoulders dropping. "I gotta admit, we didn't even really think of you until I had a vision. I mean, I guess we assumed-"

"Wait." Adam holds up his hands. "You had a vision? Of me? Is that why you came here?"

"Yeah, I thought we told you. Sorry. I guess… the apocalypse does weird things to psychics. Anyway, I was saying… I'm really sorry man, I mean, you must've thought the same thing about us, but we didn't even consider looking, you know?" Sam leans against the side of the motel, hands balling into loose fists.

"Hey, I understand." Adam mimics Sam's pose, sliding his own hands into his pockets. "I mean, I guess I'd thought about you guys before I found her, but…"

"Yeah."

Both brothers fall silent; contemplative. Soon, Dean emerges from the car, a glow about him. Sam smiles, and Adam slips quietly around the corner, leaving the two alone. Or rather, the three.

"Hey. So… that's pretty amazing, huh?" Sam queries casually, the corner of his lip perked up, showing just one dimple. He pushes off the wall and saunters to Dean, stopping to stand beside him in the near-empty lot.

"Yeah. Talk about luck." He chuckles. "Figures it'd take the end of the world for us to get some that's _not _bad."

Sam agrees with nothing but an expression, and Dean grips his shoulder before they head back to the front of the motel, their shadows side by side in the bright sunshine that, for once, doesn't seem too overbearing.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

_A/N: So? Any completely obvious plotholes that I somehow missed? Enjoyable? Only you can say. ;)_


	8. Never a Break

_A/N: So, I was going to let you guys stew for a couple more days, but I guess I'm not always that mean. :) This is a fairly short chapter, though, so apologies. It's very intense, if that's any consolation, haha. Continued thanks for all your wonderful support! I believe I personally responded to every review, but if for some inexplicable reason I missed you, THANK YOU! It means so very much. But enough of my babbling. Onwards._

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

Morgan is sitting by Reid's bed when Sam strolls awkwardly in, entering and leaning against the door jam. Derek looks up when the younger man comes into the room and smiles wearily.

"Hey."

Sam returns the greeting, shoving his hands into their respective pockets. "So, listen, Adam-and Dean and I-… we're really sorry."

"For what? Saving Reid's life?"

Sam's gaze snaps from the floor to Morgan, eyebrows raised. "What?"

Morgan stands, coming over to Sam. "Hey, man, I'm not gonna lie-I'm mad. But I get it. I would've done the same thing. And, when it happened, you fixed it, even Adam. We understand."

Sam blinks, taken aback. "All right. Well, thanks. That's-" Sam breaks off, eyes squeezing shut as his brows draw together. "I, um-" He sucks in a breath through his teeth, bringing both hands up to press into his eyes.

"You alright, kid?" Morgan questions, already glancing around for the normally ever-vigilant big brother, and not knowing why he hadn't come in with Sam.

In answer, Sam groans and drops to his knees, one hand shooting out to brace himself against the wall, the other massaging his temples.

"Dean!"

The brother is in the room and kneeling beside Sam before Morgan can even pronounce the 'n,' leaving the agent wondering just where he'd been.

"Sam?"

But he's already gone. Dean swears violently, gently pushing Sam back against the wall, and keeping his hands in position after the motion is done.

"Will, uh, will he be alright?" It's the first time Morgan has been that close when Sam had a vision.

"He'll be fine," Dean answers gruffly, jaw set.

Just then, Reid stirs on the bed and Sam jerks under Dean's hands. Morgan hurries to the bed while Dean settles himself on the floor, ready to support Sam when he fully comes back to consciousness-which is a few seconds later.

"Dean…?"

"Right here, Sammy."

Sam blinks, trying to clear the last white spots from his vision. His head pounds, causing nausea to swirl in his gut. Unbidden, a groan works itself out of his throat, and Dean's brow immediately furrows.

"What's wrong?"

Sam doesn't answer, and Dean slips his hand to the younger brother's cheek, patting gently. "Sam?" Finally, a reply comes in the form of unintelligible muttering. Of course, Dean seems to understand and pulls one of Sam's arms over his shoulders. "Alright, Sammy, let's get you somewhere slightly more comfortable, eh?"

He half-drags Sam over to the empty bed past the one Reid's been lying on, glancing to Morgan in what almost looks like a request for permission. The profiler simply nods with a sympathetic smile and turns back to his own charge.

"Reid?" He asks quietly, patting the young doctor's hand. Even though he'd been on the brink of waking a few minutes ago, Spencer is unresponsive now.

Garcia comes in then.

"Shift's over," she spouts cheerfully to Morgan, bounce back in her step, but her path falters when she sees Sam, gaze immediately turning concerned. "What happened? Is he alright?" She asks fearfully.

To everyone's surprise, Sam himself answers. "I'm fine."

He pushes himself up against the headboard, rising to a sitting position before swinging his feet off the edge of the bed. "We have to go."

With that, he strides out of the room, Dean sitting stunned for a moment before quickly following him. Garcia turns to Morgan, her eyes a clear question. He sighs, sitting heavily on the bed Dean's just abandoned.

"Kid had another vision."

Garcia gasps, eyes shining. "Oh… poor Sam."

Morgan nods, stare back on Reid, who's beginning to move. Derek stands, setting a hand on the other man's shoulder while Garcia hurries to stand opposite him.

"Reid, sweetie? Spencer?" She prompts, squeezing his hand. "Can you hear me?"

The younger agent comes awake with a soft moan, dark eyelashes fluttering against too-pale cheeks.

"That's it, baby, you're all right. Come on back…"

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

Dean stomps into the doorway down the hall right after Sam, feeling a routine start to form. As Sam begins to gather their things, face expressionless, the feeling only blossoms.

"Sam. Stop. What's going on?"

This time, when Sam turns to Dean, his face is only stone. There are no tears, no expression of fear or despair, just… nothing but a scarily strong determination.

"We've gotta leave." He turns away again, setting everything in place.

Dean goes after him, grabbing a sleeve in exasperation. "Sam. No. We're not doing this again. Tell me what's going on now, and _then _maybe we can talk about leaving."

Sam's breath hitches, and Dean's heart skips a beat, but there's no climactic meltdown, only a soft utterance.

"I saw this place… in The Darkness."

Dean is silent for a moment, processing the information. What did Sam mean by that? How could he see what happened here during a period of complete dark? And, more importantly, why? Dean shudders, fully realizing the implications of his brother's statement. Being present in The Darkness is one thing-actually seeing what happened during that time is a completely different one. He blinks, hard.

"I'm sorry, Sammy."

"I-I've gotta get out of here, Dean. You just-you don't know. I just have to leave."

A pause.

"All right."

Sam turns to Dean, obviously surprised. "Really? That's it?"

Dean takes a step back, arms slightly lifted. "What? You want me to start a scream-fest? 'Cause I can do that, too. But, Sam… if it rattled you that much, then it isn't worth staying here. We'll find somewhere else."

"… Thanks."

"No problem. I'll go tell the agents." With that, Dean bounds off, trademark grin on his face. Sam shakes his head.

He sighs as Dean's form disappears from view, sitting on the edge of the bed closest to the door. The images from his vision spin wildly through his consciousness, unforgiving solidified echoes, and he shuts his eyes hard, nausea filling his gut as he prays for the horrifying slideshow to stop.

_There is, of course, blood. Lots. But perhaps worse than that is the changing. People, turned. Into animals. Sam hasn't seen the process before now, but now it is worse than ever before, every step laid out in grossly picturesque detail. He sees their flesh begins to melt like wax in the light, their fingernails blackening and flaking off as sores appear on nearly every body surface. Skin rots, becoming yellow and shriveled, pockmarked all over the place. _

_And here, in this unassuming motel, they reside, lying in wait for some innocent, lost survivor to wander through. When someone comes… they attack. _

_There's hardly anything left when the pack is done. _

Sam leans over and throws up.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

_A/N: Hello, my name is Morte, and I'm a hopeless angst/whumpaholic. Did I warn you guys about that? :p Teehee._


	9. Departure

_A/N: And the plot continues to thicken. Once again, thank you all so much for your continuing support! It's super amazing. This chapter is rather short, but it has some developments, and I promise the next chapter makes up for it. ;) Enjoy!_

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

Dean, more than anything, feels his brother's distress. He's in the middle of discussing "travel plans" with Agent Hotchner when his own sixth sense goes off the charts, and he hurriedly dismisses himself, sprinting back down the hall. He arrives at their soon to be abandoned abode to find Sam doubled over on the bed, looking like he's about to keel over in a puddle of his own recent upchuck. With a 'whoa,' Dean catches him before he can completely collapse, and pulls his long legs up into the bed, fetching a cup of water and a damp rag, which he silently hands to Sam. The younger brother looks at him with such unabashed gratification and self-pity that Dean doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"So… you wanna tell me what this is about?" Although he can guess, Dean figures its probably nicer to go at Sam's pace.

"Please…" and now Sam is _begging_, and Dean wasn't expecting that, and, boy, does his heart pay the price. "Can we just leave?"

Dean's eyes going from pillowy to steel in a matter of nanoseconds.

"Sure, Sammy."

Stepping just into the hallway, Dean gets the attention of Hotchner and motions him over.

"Hey. Sorry about… that. So, as I was saying. Sam had a vision, and I guess it was of this place during The Darkness. He's understandably freaked, and if there's even a chance of anything wonky going on here, I for one, would like to get out, too."

Aaron just stares at Dean with that impenetrable expression for the longest time before finally nodding. "Okay. Sounds good. We should stay mobile, anyway." Without any other words, he's off, heading to the room where Morgan, Reid, Garcia, and more recently Prentiss are all housed in.

Three of the agents are already up and moving, and the crease between Hotch's eyebrows deepen, but now it is in confusion. Prentiss catches the look, and a smile forms at the corner of her lips.

"We may have heard the conversation."

Hotch simply nods, turning away with a smile. "You've got ten minutes, then we wanna be out of here. Can you guys get Reid?"

Morgan replies in the affirmative, and Hotch is moving again, down the hall. He stops briefly by the brothers' room. Sam is up now, softly knocking on the bathroom door, while Dean gathers up the rest of their few moveable belongings. Hotch keeps going, out into the bleak parking lot where the sun is still up, lower now, and their car is sitting, just waiting for them. Hotch can understand Dean's fascination with cars. They're powerful and large, yet you're in control of the whole thing. It's complex machinery that's about as easy to use as a big bike. Of course, that's not all there is to it. He's sure Dean is into the details, but, being a profiler, Hotch feels the generalization probably fits.

He leans up against the hood of the car, folding his arms and watching the sky just start to blush with afternoon hues. It always seemed like the sun shone forever now. Although it was impossible, the days felt longer, almost infinitely so.

"Hey, Hotch."

The agent suppresses a jump, turning towards the source of the voice. He's surprised to see Reid standing there, leaning against a pillar and looking anything but good.

"Reid."

"What's going on?" 5

"We're leaving. Sam had another vision, about this place, so we're clearing out."

Reid frowns. He slowly walks over to join Hotch, arm wrapped loosely around his stomach.

"Where will we go?"

"I don't know. We'll figure something out when everyone else gets here." Hotch pauses. "How did you get out of the room? I thought they wouldn't let their eyes off of you."

Spencer smiles. "I can be sneaky when I need to."

"Speaking of, why the need? You could just as easily have asked one of them."

The smile fades. "You know me. I don't like being fawned over. Needed to get out of there-the atmosphere was nearing oppressive."

Hotch smiles.

"What?"

"It's just, that sounded exactly like something you'd say before… all this."

Reid cocks his head. "I'm still the same person, you know."

"I know," Hotch assures. "It's just, all of us are changed. Things are different. It was just nice."

Still slightly confused, Reid just nods. The door suddenly slams behind them, making the younger agent jump and spin, wincing, to find a furious Derek Morgan stalking towards him. He unknowingly edges towards Hotch.

"Hey, Morgan."

"How the heck did you get out of there? I swear, turn my gaze for two seconds…"

Hotch chuckles. Feeling sorry for him, he steps in front of Reid. "My fault. He came to see me. We're heading out anyway. Get him settled? I'll go get everyone else."

Derek smirks. "Try to compromise with me… We have the same profession, you know." But he was already heading towards the young doctor, opening the car door on the way.

Hotch smirks right back, slipping inside the hotel. His gaze slips around, before settling on the person he was looking for.

"Prentiss. You ready to head out?"

She gives him a tight nod. "Garcia's in the rest room. We'll both be done when she is and get to the car."

Satisfied, Hotch heads down the hall to the Winchesters' room. His chest aches thinking about them. The agents don't even know all of their history, but its already clear they haven't had an easy life. Just about as far from that as one can get, it would seem. He enters the room, clearing his throat quietly to announce his presence. Dean looks up from where he's tending to Sam, and Hotch frowns. The kid looks terrible, eyes sunken, skin white, limbs shaking.

"We're all ready to go." He pauses. "Is Sam going to be alright?"

He sees Dean clench a fist, looking back at his sleeping brother before answering. "He'll be fine. He's been through worse… I think he might've caught a bug. The… the psychic thing is making him weaker than normal." He doesn't even add a tag about Sam's normally prissy weakness, and that worries even Hotch.

"Alright."

Adam emerges from the bathroom then, and he stops, feeling the tension in the air. He swallows, glancing to the still form on the bed. But soon his face relaxes, and he turns to Hotch.

"What's the plan?"

"Not sure. That's what I came to discuss."

Dean speaks up now. "As long as we get away from this dump, I'll be good. Actually, out of the state would be fantastic."

Hotch nods. "Okay."

Dean blinks. "Just keep driving?" He suggests, a hint of humor back in his gravelly voice, and Hotch nods.

"Just keep driving."

~SN~CM~SN~CM


	10. Zombies and Heartache

_A/N: Sorry for the wait, guys. Life. And, of course, the fact that FF wouldn't let me touch this story for days on end! I still have no idea why, but I am supremely grateful it is allowing me now. I'm afraid it shan't be the only wait, however (though hopefully none will be as bad as this)... I'm nearing the end of my 'already done' section of this fic, yikes. They will continue coming, though, promise. :] Thanks for sticking with me! Here you are... it continues to heat up._

~SN~CM~SN~CM

Everyone is outside. Dean is standing in front of the Impala, having already settled Sam inside, in the passenger seat. Adam is beside him, and they're staring at a very awkward-looking Spencer Reid.

"I was wondering. Could I possibly ride with you guys?"

Adam gapes. "Are you sure? I mean, I-" He's obviously still feeling guilty, seeing Reid favoring his middle, arm still wrapped over it.

"I'm sure. You seem… cool," he murmurs, as if unsure he's using the word right. "Besides, I'd like to make sure Sam's okay. He's sort of saved me twice now, and if you don't mind, I figured it'd be nice to maybe start returning the favors."

There is a tense moment before Dean nods, face breaking into a grin. "Sam tends to have that effect on people, doesn't he?" Without another comment, he swings into the driver's side, settling into the seat with a happy sigh. "We're back, Sammy."

Reid and Adam both slide into the back, quickly buckling.

"Now let's get away from here."

By the time they've gone twenty miles, the four inside are already relaxed, laughing as they share tales of their adventures from both odd professions.

"So, what isn't real?" Comes the eager question from a Spencer Reid who's just been introduced to an entire new universe.

Sam _hmm_s. "Well, unicorns, Bigfoot…"

"Unless you count Sasquach here," Dean snorts, gesturing to Sam, who huffs.

"What about vampires?"

Dean snorts, and Reid shoots him a questioning look. Dean catches it and shakes his head. "Definitely real."

"Wow," comes the stunned whisper as Reid sits back, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah. That about sums it up," Sam chuckles. "You did good earlier, by the way. With the demons, I mean. Most people would've freaked."

"I did. I just don't show it the same way as 'most people.'"

Sam smiles. "Yeah. I completely understand th-what the crap?" Sam flinches violently as a shape scurries across the road, and before Dean can react, a loud thump echoes through the Impala as, simultaneously, the vehicle jerks as if riding over a large bump.

Immediately after, Dean slams on the brakes. There is silence for a moment before the activity flares up, exclamations and slamming doors filling the car.

Sam and Dean are the first two out, and they share a glance before sprinting back to where a form lays, motionless, on the road.

"Did you- did you- is that?" Sam doesn't seem to be able to spit out a full sentence.

"Shut up, Sam! I don't know!"

Sam falls silent, feeling every ounce of distress in his brother's words. If Dean had actually… Sam shudders and prays he hasn't.

As they draw closer to the form, though, a wariness sweeps over Sam. He slows, pulling his gun out of his waistband and putting a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"What the heck, man?" Is Dean's first protest, but he does slow to Sam's pace.

"Look at it, Dean." Is the only explanation.

And Dean does. After a few seconds, his eyes widen. "That isn't…" Sam nods. The emaciated body is still laying motionless, but now they are close enough to see. See the yellowed skin and fatless bones. Dean glances to Sam. "Think it's dead?"

Before a reply can come, the agent's Dodge draws up beside them and stops. The door starts to open.

"Guys, wait."

It stops.

"We hit one of the creatures… dunno if its dead. Be careful."

Morgan steps out, using the car door to shield himself. He frowns, glancing to somewhere behind the brothers. Dean soon realizes he is making contact with Reid. The elder Winchester steps forward, gun outstretched, and carefully nudges the former human with his foot. Everyone waits in anticipation, but nothing happens. Soon, Dean tries it again. And once again, there's no reaction. The relaxation that fills the air is tangible.

And then it moves.

It's incredibly fast, even more so than the ones before, it seems. Sam and Dean both bring their guns up and aim for the head, but when they shoot their bullets hit only the pavement. Both brothers watch in horror as the thing moves like some sick brown lightning, too quick for even them, and lunges toward the remaining Winchester. Sam dives at it, grabbing a twig of a leg and twisting, but it doesn't seem to hinder it. Already within reach of Adam, it grabs him and latches its drooling mouth onto his forearm.

Adam cries out, pulling away while shaking his arm violently. Or at least trying to. But the thing only holds on tighter, pulling forth another agonized yell from him. He falls back, to the pavement, tears dripping down onto his cheeks.

"Get it off!"

Finally, Dean pops it in the head, and Sam pries the thing off his brother's arm, catching Adam as he falls and pulling the limp boy's torso into himself.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Adam. Hey, its alright. You'll be fine. We've got that hospital of yours in there, remember? You'll be fine."

But Dean can see the raw fear in Sam's eyes, and hear the thin veil of terror in his voice. Coldness assaults his chest, and he stalks away. Garcia meets him in the middle of the road, staring up into his green eyes with her own wide ones.

"Is… will he…" Her bottom lip quivers, and without warning, arms appear around Dean's torso, squeezing tightly.

He's taken aback for a moment, but soon, he returns the embrace. "Hey. Shh. He'll-he'll be all right." But inside, he's doubting the words even as they leave his mouth. How could this happen? Things had been so looking up…

He somehow doesn't think things will be all right again for a very long time.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

They pile into their vehicles as quickly as possible, Sam and Spencer trading seats in the Impala so the former can tend to Adam, who isn't doing so well. As soon as they'd killed the thing and gotten over the initial shock, it'd been nothing but business, transporting the youngest member of their little band back to the car. He'd been coherent but in agony, unable to walk. Even now, curled in the backseat like a five year old with his head in Sam's lap, he is writhing and groaning, holding his injured arm close to chest.

"Sam," he whispers. "What's going to happen?"

The question takes Sam by surprise, and he peers down at the young face. "What do you mean?"

"I heard what you said to Dean… what you saw. And I know you know. So tell me, please… What's going to happen to me?"

Sam licks his lips, blowing a breath out through his nose. "Nothing, Adam. We're gonna fix this, I promise. Just sit tight, okay? If you're thinking you're going to… turn, don't. We don't even think that's how the creatures are made. So, seriously, relax."

And Adam does. Sam is almost surprised by the absolute trust Adam now seems to have for his two brothers, but supposes that's expected. At least… He shakes his head. No time for musing, he has a brother to tend to. He absently wonders if this is how Dean feels when he's got Sam to deal with. Having a younger brother is already weighing on him, and he can't fathom how Dean's gone through it his entire life. Love, he supposes.

"Dean."

The quiet word brings his brother's gaze immediately to Sam's, turmoil spinning through the hazel irises. "Yeah?"

"Just…" Sam stops and clamps his hand down tighter on Adam's trembling shoulder. "Hurry."

Needing no other incentive, Dean taps the accelerator down even further, sending the large car barreling freely down the asphalt, free and seeming almost as urgent as the cargo she carries.

"Sam…" Adam's whisper is breathy and pained, and as Sam looks down to reply, the younger man twists, moaning. His back arches and he squeezes his eyes shut, gasps panting through his dry, white lips.

"Adam? What's going on, man?" Sam questions frantically, scrabbling for something, anything, to help in what he'd considered an arsenal of medical supplies mere hours ago. Now, he doesn't know what to do as Adam continues to move in his lap, surprising Sam by spewing a violent curse as his struggles begin to increase. "Hey! Adam, calm down. What's wrong? What's happening?"

"Gah… It burns. It's spreading, Sam. Ah… just… just stop it!" He pleads, biting his lip hard enough to draw scarlet liquid that slowly travels down his pale chin.

_Spreading_…. Sam suddenly swears viciously, hurriedly pulling out a bandage out of their bag. If he's right about what Adam is insinuating, he can't get it on fast enough. Forgoing scissors and simply ripping the strand of white material off the roll, Sam pulls Adam's sleeve high on his arm, drawing his hands to six inches above the wound and tying it off with quick, nimble hands. He prays he's fast enough, but as Adam continues to shudder, he fears he might not be. A final tug and a groan from Adam and he's done, slipping a finger under the tourniquet to make sure Adam's arm won't completely fall off.

"Sam? What's going on back there?" Dean finally queries, having heard the activity but not wanting to interrupt in case it would distract Sam.

"Put a tourniquet on… Just to be sure he doesn't bleed too much, you know?"

It sounds like a perfectly valid excuse, but Dean can read the underlying tone. He heard Adam's cries, too, and understands all too well. Sam put that thing on so it would hinder any venom galloping through Adam's veins, only behooved by the teen's much too fast heartbeat.

They finally reach a hotel half an hour later, and by then Adam's fallen unresponsive. Fear cinching their hearts, Sam and Dean hurry in, the former with the limp body in his arms and the latter with the med bag. The two run to the first room they can find, Sam setting Adam on the bed while Dean practically rips open the bag.

"Peroxide?" Sam questions, pulling off Adam's dirty coat and exposing the messy injury.

Dean nods, pulling out the bottle of the dark substance. Moving quickly, he cups Adam's arm and pours the liquid over the shredded skin, wincing as it bubbles. Beneath Sam's restraining hands, Adam stirs, whimpering. Outside the room waits the agents, watching through the doorframe in trepidation.

"What else?" Sam whispers fearfully, watching as the peroxide drips down to soak into the white bedspread. Dean bites his lip.

"Holy water."

"Did you bring any in?"

A short shake of the head, and Sam is sprinting back outside, opening the trunk of the Impala and digging through their long-missed equipment with a frantic air. He finds the flask and is back in the room before half a minute has passed. By this time, Dean has patted Adam's arm clean from the peroxide and is re-checking the tourniquet. Upon hearing Sam come in, he holds out his hand, catching the flask of blessed water when Sam drops it and instantly undoing the top one-handedly, dumping out the contents over Adam's still-oozing arm.

Nothing. No sizzling, no fizz, no screaming. Dean breaths a sigh of relief, allowing himself a margin of relaxation for the first time in hours.

"What now?" The meek voice brings Dean's gaze around to the door, where Reid is frowning in concern, brows drawn together in question.

"Now…" Dean bites his lip, hating every word coming from his mouth. "Now we wait."

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

_A/N: Yeah, I am really freakin' mean. You just wait... *maniacal smile.* I don't beg, but reviews honestly do make my day. Thank any and all who even look on this, page, though! You have my undying gratitude. _


	11. What Is Not

_A/N: Apologies for the delay in review replies and such. I wasn't aware that our temporary lodging for Spring Break didn't have wi-fi. __L__ I have found some, however! Obviously…. : ] So hooray. Once again, I'm trying to get to everybody, but sincere thanks to every single reader, silent or otherwise. Love you all! Now, on we go. I'm afraid it's not going to get much better for our poor heroes. Oh, yes, this chapter is quite short. You know how it goes… Heh. Oh, and just a warning: we're all flexible here, so I don't think it will matter too much, but there's a bit of spirituality at the end of this chapter and during the next. Hopefully it won't offend anyone, but if you're horribly against that, well… here is the disclaimer. And it won't be a recurring, huge plot point or anything. Just a mention. Anyway, that's about it. Don't you hate novel length notes? *shies away* _

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

Sam refuses to leave Adam's bedside. The teen's been out of it for hours now, and Sam has been sitting in an old ratted chair the entirety of the time. No one, not the profilers, not even Dean, can drive him away. So the older brother instead takes to sitting on the bed across from them both, chatting for all three people. Maybe he hopes to simply annoy Sam enough that he'll walk out of the room. But that isn't the case, and soon enough even Dean falls quiet, watching the shallow rise and fall of his "new" brother's smaller chest.

"This isn't normal." Sam's voice is quiet, underused and raspy.

"Don't know what you mean," Dean comments, too cheerfully.

"He shouldn't be unconscious at all, let alone this long. Something's wrong."

Dean snorts. "What do you mean he shouldn't be unconscious at all? You saw the damage he took, man. Trauma, blood loss, shock… you know better than anyone what that can do to a person."

Sam sits back, silent. He shakes his head, but does not move. Nor does he speak again, and after nearly ten minutes, Dean can't sit still anymore.

"Call me if you need something." And he leaves. Or at least, starts to leave. He barely gets past the doorway when a soft groan stops him, and he swivels back around to see Sam bending over in his chair, hands pressed into his eyes. Dean, of course, immediately starts to him, but once again he is stopped. This time, though, its by an invisible force that shoves him against the hallway wall when Sam, still in his chair, swings his hand. The door slams in front of Dean just as his back hits the faded cement construction, stealing his breath for a moment. He ignores it, throwing himself against the door, but its too late. Its locked, and Dean can only pound against it helplessly as Sam's agonized groans filter through the wood.

Why would he do that? Dean hits the door again in vain, heart stopping as a cry echoes from in the room. Sam. He should be having the vision now… that's what this is, isn't it? Dean growls. He knows that's what this is. What's going on? Sam doesn't just _yell, _not like that.

Something's not right.

"Sam! Sammy! Come on man, open the door."

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

Something's wrong. Sam's not sure what it is, but he's not seeing anything yet, and the pain in his head is still growing. He's in a world of agony and confusion, and what is going on? Dark spots begin stealing his consciousness, ever-efficient little thieves of his life force, and Sam distantly hears a cry. Before he can even realize it came from him, a familiar white haze overtakes everything, and he's gone.

_It's dark. The absence of light steals Sam's breath, pressing down on his mostly-bare skin from all around him. The oppressive air is all-encompassing, and he pats himself down, frantically realizing his clothes are half-gone, shredded from some mysterious force. No, no this isn't right. This isn't the scene he's supposed to be seeing. _

_The pitch-black is really starting to get to him, and Sam feels a vice begin squeezing his lungs. He literally feels every agonizing sensation, and its freaking him out. He's clueless. This is new, and it isn't fun. _

_A noise from somewhere near sets his senses off on an electrified tangent, and he whips around, eyes straining futilely to scan through the black. There is silence only for a moment more before the sound comes again. Its vaguely familiar… some sort of ripping. Sam frowns, heart exploding and reconstructing itself with every beat. He tries to follow the sounds, though he's not sure why. It's terrifying. But maybe it'll get him out of the dark, in more ways than one. _

_The smallest of glints, and Sam's running, suddenly filled with nothing but a desperate desire to reach the light, however absurd it seems. The assessing hunter's mind is far gone, and now there is only pure human fear and need left, soul crumbling into bits and falling towards the small light, Sam left with no choice but to chase it. And he does. _

_There comes a door after infinity, and Sam stops there, suddenly wary. The sounds are louder, and he's sure now that whatever is on the other side is what he's meant to see. Suddenly, an idea. Is this how his visions work, now? Can he choose whether to see them or not? A shake of the head. He'll dwell on it afterwards. His innate curiosity is not allowing him to ignore the door any longer, and so, Sam does not. _

_Afterwards, he'll always wish he'd listened to that small, seemingly unimportant cautious corner of his mind that had been screaming to him; that had said never to open it. But of course, Sam was a Winchester, and could never deny a mystery. So he opened it. _

_The sounds stop, and Sam can see now it's a creature… feasting. His gag reflex, usually so very resolved, immediately kicks in, but it isn't until the form turns around that Sam really loses it. The eyes… _

_Adam. Sam screams. _

Sam is slung out of the horrid vision, cry still on his lips. His hands fly to his eyes, covering, trying to wipe away the images. His chest heaves, mouth parted wide, breaths flying in and out. He feels as though his ribs will break with the force of his heart against him, and his vision is blurred with salt. But he hardly notices any of this, nor does he hear the cracking of wood as the door crashes in.

Only when the sweet blackness comes for him does Sam come back to some semblance of reality, and welcomes the merciful gift of unconsciousness.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

Sam screams, and Dean loses any sense he had left in his mind. He rears back, and with a single shout of warning, shoots his foot out and breaks in the door. He barges in to find Sam out of the chair, against the wall, looking as though he's facing off with hell's army alone. And for all Dean knows, maybe he is.

Sam's chest is expanding and lowering much too fast. His skin has virtually no color, and there are miniature waterfalls running down the strained contours of his terror-stricken face. He doesn't glance at Dean, even with the loud sound he just made, only stares forward at nothing and everything before the smallest look of relief crosses his face and he begins to fall. Dean is darting forward before Sam is even swooning, grabbing him and pulling him up into his arms, transferring the long body into the bed not occupied with seeming effortlessness.

Dean then takes up residence between the two beds, a breath escaping his lips as a weight settles heavily over his shoulders once again. The eldest Winchester, left alone, is almost unable to compose himself, sitting hunched between his two brothers, desperately hoping for some glimpse of something better to come. That's when he notices the bed stand behind him. On a sudden impulse, Dean turns and opens the drawer.

Sitting there, unscathed, is the bible usually so prevalent in all places of lodging. Biting his lip and glancing around, Dean picks up the old, dog-eared book and sets it in his lap. He's not unfamiliar with the text, of course, having used it as reference many times before, but he suddenly feels a sense of wariness. He flips the heavy book open to a random page, and his eyes are immediately drawn to a passage in the middle.

Its Psalms 9:18. "But the needy will not always be forgotten, nor will the hope of the afflicted ever perish."

Dean's beliefs have been shaky over the years, and with good reason. Demons, and even some angels, are tricky, and persuasive. Besides, who could believe in a loving God with all they'd been through? But there was always that small voice. And sometimes, when he was alone and desperate, Dean needed that. He needed someone to be there. And seeing this, as if his mind has been read, dissolves Dean's resolve.

His hands begin to shake, and the bible drops from them to land impossibly quietly on the carpeted floor. Without his permission, water suddenly takes up residence in Dean's eyes, and his throat closes up.

"God…" He whispers, and it is the first time in a long time he doesn't use it as a profanity. "We could use some help…"

~SN~CM~SN~CM~


	12. Descent

_A/N: Hello there. :) Apologies for the wait. I'm afraid that may be of the norm from here on out, as I am reaching the end of my 'already written' stage and am just about making it up as we go along. Just a warning. But I will try not to be too horribly cruel, in regards to the waiting period. As for the plot, well... You'll just have to see. _

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

Penelope is sitting with a still recovering Reid when the first gusts of wind comes through the front of the house. It is drafty in the front sitting room, even with all the doors and windows closed, and when the rain comes, the room is vacated, the noise making conversation impossible. Reid goes ahead of her to a room they'd designated for him, Hotch, and Morgan, and Garcia splits off to find the one she is to share with Prentiss. But as the wind howls more, she frowns. Maybe she should warn the Winchester boys. Or just go in to check on them. They've been through a lot, and she wants to see how Adam is doing, anyway.

She continues down the hall past her room to the one a couple doors down where they'd dropped Adam in earlier. Approaching the now-disassembled door, she is surprised to hear quiet huffs of breath that sound remarkably like crying. But that can't be right. They aren't the type to just break down. And besides, she hears nothing else. If one of them is in enough turmoil to be breaking down, the other would surely be comforting them. Unless…

Quickly, she pokes her head just past the doorframe and pulls back, heart breaking. Dean is sitting between the two beds, and between his two fallen brothers. The scene is almost poetic, and while Penelope has always been one for morbid poets, this is just horrible. And now she doesn't know what to do. She doesn't want to invade on Dean's privacy and pride by just going in, but she can't leave him like that. He needs someone. Steeling herself, she walks quietly, timidly into the room, clearing her throat.

Dean's head snaps up, and he quickly turns away, trying to be surreptitious about wiping his face. Penelope plays along, even as he picks up a book at his feet-is that a bible?-and slides it back into the open drawer behind him.

"Hey. How are they? What happened to Sam?"

Dean's face immediately clouds over. "Long story."

"I've got time," Penelope insists, pulling a chair away from a table in the corner and up across from Dean, looking at him expectantly. He sighs.

"He was sitting with Adam and had a vision, but wouldn't let me in. I had to kick open the door just to get to him, and by then he was gone."

_Well, that explains the door, anyway…_ "I'm sorry," she whispers. "Really. Is there anything from Adam?"

"Not yet. Sam was right. He's taking too long to wake up. Something's wrong."

"Hey. Where's that optimism I've grown to love?"

Dean fails miserably at an attempt at a smile. "Kinda hard to keep up these days, huh?" He's silent for just a moment more before suddenly asking, "are you religious, Garcia?"

She doesn't even seem to be taken aback. "I suppose you could call it that. I believe in God, if that's what you mean."

Dean nods. "So I suppose that means you think all this happened because of, what, free will? Bad things happen because people let them?"

Garcia purses her lips for a moment. "Not quite. I don't think this whole thing was brought about by people. I think… it was always going to happen. Just a matter of time. We happened to get stuck in the middle of it."

Dean nods again, falling silent. His gaze travels back to where Sam is lying, up to his brother's currently peaceful face, and Garcia almost cries at the pain that gathers in his eyes so quickly.

"It's not fair," he grits out. "Why should he have to suffer so much? Sam's given more than anyone else in this freaking war, and he's the one taking the brunt of all the crap. Worse, he puts it all on himself. Where's the justice in that?" On the last word, Dean's voice breaks. He covers it up with a cough, but Penelope can read the dejection coming off him in waves, and her chest tightens even more.

"Everything happens for a reason, Dean. You don't need me to tell you how strong Sam is. I know he'll get through this, and be better than ever. Maybe its for the best. Maybe its to help. And I know Adam's … symptoms might not look the best, and I'm no medical expert, but look at it this way. You guys don't even know what he's been through, and he hasn't had any more rest than the rest of us. Compound that with the traumatic injury he took today, and maybe its good he's getting so much sleep. You guys have done everything you can, and you shouldn't have to feel guilty for doing your best. Better than anyone else could've done, in fact, so just… wait. Have faith."

She can only hope that helps. Dean doesn't answer, only stares out the window, and after a few minutes, Garcia exits the room, no longer able to help the tears streaking down her face.

Prentiss looks up when she comes into the room, and is instantly by her side, wrapping her arm around her. Penelope turns into her friend turned practical sister, and lets the sobs shake her.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

Adam moves first. Its just a twitch, but Dean is by his side a nanosecond later, anyway, barely daring to hope. He starts to reach out a hand, then pulls it back as the bed behind him squeaks. Dean hesitates a moment and turns just as Sam jackknifes up off the mattress, turning to him with a look of terror. Dean's eyes widen and he quickly reaches out to steady his brother, jerking in surprise when Sam shoots out of his bed and around to Dean, pulling him to the doorway before he can say or do anything. But instead of leaving the room and fleeing, as Dean half-expected, Sam freezes there, hand still fisted in his brother's jacket, staring at Adam with wide, panicked eyes.

"Uh… Sam?"

Sam starts, as if he'd forgotten Dean was there. "Yeah?"

"What the crap?"

The younger Winchester blinks, looks at Dean, blinks again, and finally seems to come back to reality. He blows out a breath, leaning wearily against the door jam.

"I saw… something. Can't say if it was a vision, but I was awake and it hurt. But it was different, so I don't know."

"Well, what did you see?"

Sam doesn't answer, and Dean looks over to see he's staring at their brother's bed again. And he's started trembling. Dean's brow creases, and he grips Sam's shoulder, hoping to transfer some warmth or strength.

"What's wrong, man?"

"Dean… he-Adam, he…" Sam doesn't seem to be able to continue, but Dean thinks he's gotten the gist of it.

"Crap," comes the muttered utterance, Dean pulling Sam out into the hallway and leaning him against the wall. He pauses, worrying his lip. "So what do we do?"

Sam just looks at him, puppy dog eyes going full force. Dean winces.

"I'm serious, Sam. I mean, if you think he's going to be a threat…"

Before Sam can reply, there's a crash from within their room. The brothers look at each other, wide-eyed, before dashing in together, Dean gripping Sam's jacket. They glance frantically around the dusty but well-furnished room, meeting each others' gazes in something akin to terror when the bed is found to be empty. Dean pulls his gun out, holding it cautiously by his ear.

"Adam?" He calls, stepping quietly into the room. "You here, man? We, uh-we gotta talk." No response is forthcoming, and Dean steps further into the room, away from Sam, who's staying conspicuously silent and still. "Adam? Come on, dude… not funny…"

There's a clatter, and suddenly the bathroom door opens. Dean's gun is immediately pointed that way, towards the small room, where Adam stands… looking completely shocked and taken aback, plus slightly pale, but otherwise normal. Sam blinks.

"Uh… something wrong?"

Dean lowers the gun, glancing over to Sam with a deeply furrowed brow. He doesn't remove his gaze from Sam's face, but answers Adam, tucking the gun away again.

"No. Sorry, dude, false alarm." Finally, Dean looks Adams way, and Sam withdraws into the hall, shaking. "So you're feeling better?"

"Yeah." Adam sits heavily on the bed, cradling his injured arm close to his torso. "That was close, huh?" His words are quiet; a thin veil hiding deep terror. "Anyway. Sorry if I worried you. Woke up and really had to go. I tripped over my own feet and knocked over the soap in there."

_Well, that explains the crash, then. _"Yeah. Sorry about the gun. Sam had a vision… again. Works us up, you know?"

Adam frowns, eyes darkening further. "Is he all right?"

Dean looks away, into the hall where his geek of a brother has gone. His words, when they're finally said, are quiet and weary. "I don't know."

Shoulders slumping, Adam shifts, rubbing the back of his neck. "Go, Dean. I'm fine here. Sam needs you."

Dean looks sharply at Adam, but he doesn't need to be told twice. With a silent nod, he's out, striding down the hallway in the direction Sam went. He checks every room, pulse kicking up just the slightest bit when they're all empty. He starts to call out, but halts before uttering a sound, mentally kicking himself. Of course… His boots make dusty prints down the hall as Dean heads to the foyer, reaching the front and opening the door. He emerges into a just beginning sunrise, and blinks in surprise. The night went by quickly.

Sam is there, leaning against the front of the Impala. His arms are crossed, and his back is to the house, but even from far away, Dean can see the tension in the broad shoulders, and he hurries over.

"Hey," he greets quietly, hitching himself up on the Impala's hood. Sam isn't surprised in the slightest, merely glancing over before his eyes find themselves back on the colored sky.

"Hey."

They sit comfortably until the sky grows more pink than red. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sam?"

"What's wrong with me?"

Dean frowns and almost says something along the lines of 'we've been over this…' or 'nothing!,' but something in Sam's tone stops him. It isn't scared or even anxious. It's not defeated; only pensive. Before he can think of something adequate to say, Sam speaks again.

"I mean, with the last… vision. It wasn't normal."

"Ya think?" The words are out before he can stop them, but Dean doesn't regret it when a spark of mirth glints from the hazel gazing out at the ever-lightening sky.

"What," Sam begins in a mischievous tone. "That throw against the wall give you a bruise or something? Come on, man, you're getting soft."

Dean scoffs. "Me? Soft? You're the one who let yourself get popped by a zombie freak. How is that, anyway?"

It takes a minute for Sam to realize what Dean's talking about-the mini-incident before they'd met up with the profilers. It seems like a lifetime ago.

"Dean, it's fine. There's not even a mark anymore." He slips off the hood and turns to his older brother, eyes narrowed. "Why are you bringing this up now?"

Dean shrugs, averting his eyes. "Just wonderin'. I dunno, I guess it's just all this stuff with Adam made me think…"

"It could've been me." Sam finishes the statement softly, and sighs when Dean nods slightly. "Or you. Dude, we came across those things dozens of times. No big. Besides, it doesn't matter. Adam hasn't been affected, it just hurt. Why are you so-"

"_Dean! Sam!_"

There are no more words exchanged after the somewhat frantic shout, both men turning and sprinting to the house, nearly barreling down the door in their haste. They come upon a harried-looking Garcia in the foyer, her hands shaking.

"Penelope, what's wrong?" Sam questions as the rest of the agents file into the room.

Garcia sniffs, then drops into the chair behind her. "You… he, I…. It-it was Adam. I mean, he was sitting in here, looking out the window, and I just… just went to talk with him, make sure he was okay, you know? I tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around and looked at me…" A single tear snakes down her cheek. "His eyes… they were _burning. _He had… he had black veins running up his neck and he _lunged _at me." Crying freely now, she turns her tortured gaze on Dean. "What's happening to him?"

Sam clenches his jaw hard, turning away, while Dean draws nearer the trembling woman. "I don't know, Penelope. But we'll fix it, alright? Just… where did he go?"

She points down the hall, and with a last glance at her face, Dean dashes off, Sam hot on his heels.

"Adam! Adam?"

Sam is disturbingly quiet behind his booming older brother, eyes wide and chest just short of heaving. They dart down the hall, swiftly looking through every room before coming to the end and a door that no one residing in the building had yet opened. Both pause, drawing their guns. Dean glances to Sam and sets a hand on the doorknob. He waits a moment, instinctively counting a silent three in his head, then yanks it open, gun extended and eyes narrowed. It opens into a dark stairway, wooden steps descending into nothingness. Sam frowns, pausing a moment before sprinting back down the hallway. Before Dean can process it, he is back, shining a penlight into the depths. Dean smiles grimly and steps onto the first wooden slab, which creaks loudly under his weight. He grimaces, but continues down the stairs.

"Adam, you down here? Wanna come out and talk?"

There is silence. Dean pauses, scanning, as Sam goes ahead with the light. There is an old-style chain link fence in the basement they've gone into, separating it into two parts, and Sam steps cautiously through the opening, shoving the gate aside. It clangs forebodingly on the post behind him, and Sam pivots around to see Adam standing there, clicking a padlock into place. Dean hears the noise and turns, slamming up against the fence when he realizes what's happening.

"I would get back if I were you, Dean," Adam warns, hand on a switch by the wall, his voice strangely vulnerable. Dean's eyes widen as he sees the function upon further inspection: the fence isn't just normal chain link. It has electric wires running through it.

Dean steps away, back bumping the wall. He feels an oddly-shaped protrusion and brings a hand up behind him when he realizes what it is. Light floods the room when he flips the switch, allowing both older brothers to see Adam in horrifying starkness.

He's not fully transformed yet, but he's well on his way. His skin is already taking on a pale yellow color, dark veins running everywhere throughout his now-tinted flesh. Sam can see blisters running up the side of his neck, and Adam winces sharply when the light comes on. But he doesn't attack; doesn't even move. He only stands there for a moment before looking at Sam with a gaze so forlorn it nearly makes his eyes black.

"I'm sorry."

Sam proceeds carefully, keeping his hands loose at his sides and keeping an open posture. "What for, Adam?"

"This!" The teen exclaims, stepping back and gesturing to himself in general. "You know what's going to happen here!"

"Not necessarily," Sam insists, stepping forward. "We can stop this, Adam. Just… hold on, okay? Trust me." And darned if Sam hadn't heard those exact same words from Dean a thousand times over. He could only hope that they had a fraction of the effect on Adam as they did on Sam.

Adam presses his lips into a thin line, limbs visibly shaking. Sam takes hope in the fact that Adam hasn't even begun a descent into madness-he's perfectly sensible, and so far, the brothers haven't seen a creature that has a shred of that, so that's one thing, anyway. Adam suddenly makes a choking sound, and Sam reaches out instinctually, folding the younger man into a strong hug. The violent shaking in the teen's shoulders drives a stake into Sam's heart, and he silently vows to fix this. No matter what it takes.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~


	13. Hopelessness

_A/N: Oops… hehe. So, I've had a bit of trouble with this fic lately, but its all good now. : ] My sincerest apologies for the horrendous wait. Hope this appeases you all somewhat. It is a bit short, but it had to be. I promise (for real) that the next chapter will be up much sooner than this one. Anyway, enough from me. Onward!_

Dean watches his brothers closely, a tight knot in his gut. _Jeez, Adam._ The kid looks terrible, flinching at any sudden sound-no matter how soft-and never able to keep his reddening eyes on a single spot. After releasing Sam from their embrace, he turns and unlocks the gate, shoulders hunched dejectedly.

"Sorry, Dean. I-you weren't… Thanks for not shooting, anyway."

Dean makes a _pfft _sound. "Like I'd shoot my kid brother."

Adam looks up at him, the tiniest bit of hope glimmering in them. It's then that there's a noise from the stairwell. All three brothers immediately look that way. Standing in the rectangle of light at the tope is Agent Hotchner. He clears his throat.

"Sorry to have startled you. I see you found Adam. Is he all right?" Dean turns to find the youngest Winchester huddled back, face obscured in shadow.

"Yeah, he-he's good." Dean mutters. "But we need to talk."

Hotch nods, and retreats back into the hallway. Dean turns back to Sam and Adam, coming to a decision.

"You're the smooth talker, Sammy. Why don't you go explain to the agents? I'll take Zombie Boy to our room."

Sam's brow furrows, but he nods and lopes off up the steps. He finds Hotch standing in the middle of the hall, watching him expectantly.

"The rest of my team stayed in the living room. Care to explain what happened?"

Sam nods. "Yeah. But I think everyone had better hear this." He follows Hotch as the agent makes his way to where the rest of the profilers are, still huddled in the front of the house. Garcia is the first one to speak, and her sincerity makes Sam's chest ache.

"Is Adam okay? What happened? Is he… turning?" She looks sick.

Sam nods grimly. "Yes. But he's not too far gone, yet. We still have hope. He's alert, conversing, and so far under control. Now we find out what causes this and fix it." His stare dares them all to challenge his plan.

No one does, and he turns around, heading back to their room, where Dean has set Adam up on the bed. The teen is asleep, and as Sam comes in and closes the door, Dean turns around. The expression on his face doesn't make Sam feel any better, and he leans back against the door, rubbing his hands over his face.

"How are we going to fix this?"

Dean shrugs, plodding over to the chair in the room and sitting heavily in it. "I don't know, man. This is bad. I never thought…" he trails off.

Sam's throat tightens. "We just got him back, Dean."

Dean nods, staring out the window to the dark sky. "Yeah."

They stay that way for awhile, Sam desperately racking his brain to find something, anything he's ever learned about science and possible cures for infection and the like. By the time the sun is setting, his legs are shaking from holding him up so long, he has a headache, and no more ideas than he had at its rise. Despair makes its heavy presence known in his chest, and he slides to the floor.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice is quiet.

Sam shakes his head. That is all it takes, and his brother nods, making his way to the bathroom. Adam is beginning to stir now, and Sam keeps wary eye on him as he comes to full awareness. But he does nothing but lay there, staring at the ceiling for awhile. Finally, he speaks. Sam blinks at the rawness in his voice.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, Adam?" Sam does his best to keep his voice cheery, but isn't quite sure he accomplishes it. And any leftover levity in the room completely drops at Adam's next statement.

"You need to kill me."

Sam's immediately on his feet. "What? No!"

Adam doesn't even look at him, just keeps up that unnerving stare at the ceiling. "You know it as well as I do, what these things become. I don't want to live like that, Sam."

"Adam, that's not going to happen. We won't let it get that far." He's struggling for the conviction he always heard from Dean, when the same thoughts were going through his own head.

"You can't say that, Sam!" Adam suddenly leaps off the bed. We don't even know what this is, and it's already started! I can't-" Adam's voice breaks, and he wilts. "Please."

Dean emerges from the bathroom. He pauses, immediately sensing the feel in the room, looking between his two brothers. A grin appears on his face, obviously forced.

"I knew it. I leave you two emos alone and you start up an angst fest as soon as I'm out of sight."

Sam just turns and walks out of the room. Trying desperately to keep some form of normalcy up, Dean turns to the only other person in the room.

"Jeez, Adam, what'd you say to him? I mean, I know Sammy can be a drama queen…"

"I told him the truth." And then Adam's gone, too, headed the opposite way from Sam. Dean sighs deeply, looking out the window to the now almost fully-set sun. His head feels fluffy, and he's not sure how long it's been since he slept last.

He heads out of the room, hesitating a moment before following Sam. It doesn't take long to find him. He's at the end of the hall, standing and facing the wall, arms braced against it as if he's stopped in the middle of a push-up. There is tension in nearly every part of his body, and Dean can hear his strained breaths even from far away. He covers the distance in seconds, and places a hand on Sam's back. There are a few tight moments of silence before Sam tersely speaks up.

"He asked me to kill him."

Dean's only reaction is to lift an eyebrow. He keeps his hand in place. "What, that surprises you?"

Sam suddenly pushes off the wall, straightening angrily and turning to Dean. "Aren't you the least bit upset about this? Did you _hear _what I just said? He wants to _die, _Dean!"

"I heard you," the older brother assures, raising a hand. "I didn't say we weren't going to do anything, I was just asking if you're really surprised he asked. I mean, you've seen those things. He knows what's going to happen."

Another silence before Sam swears, letting his gaze fall. "No. I'm not surprised. But dang it, Dean, we can't just sit here and wait for him to-"

He says no more as a gunshot echoes through the house. Sam's eyes grow wide and terrified half a second before Dean's as it sinks in.

"We left him alone."

They both take off, the agents formerly in their rooms now joining them in the hall, gathering in confusion.

"Adam." Is the only explanation given as Dean and Sam continue through them to the lobby of the great house. It takes a moment to figure out what's gone on.

Adam is there, all right. Only, he isn't sprawled dead on the ground like they both expected him to be. He does have the gun in his hands, but it's pointed shakily at an unmoving form on the ground. He's frozen. One of _them, _comes the realization. The agents and Sam and Dean seem to recognize it just as Adam comes alive with movement. He blinks, staring at the mess of a body on the floor, then pales considerably, backing away. A choked sound bubbles from him, and his grip on the gun is white-knuckled. Sam inches forward.

"… Adam?"

The teen looks over to him, horror and-Sam's steps nearly falter-hopelessness in his gaze.

"Sam. I-I…" he glances back over to the body. His posture changes, and Sam's eyes go wide again just as he moves his arm up.

Time freezes. Dean and Penelope are yelling something. Adam is bringing the gun to his temple.

Sam lunges.

The gun goes off.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~


	14. Revelations and Musings

_A/N: My apologies for the short length of this chapter and the pace within, but it is very essential, as it is a bit of a turning point. Next chapter, the real fun begins. So those of you still with me, hold on... :)_

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

The bang freezes everyone in the room but Sam, who was moving before the gun actually went off. He shoves it to the side just as Adam pulls the trigger, causing the shot to go wild. The bullet embeds itself in the wallpaper. The younger boy just stares at Sam as he pries the gun from his stiff fingers, eyes empty. Sam feels every pulse of his heart as it struggles to beat through the sodden blanket over it. No one speaks for a moment, shock permeating the very air. Then Prentiss moves forward, her eyes slightly bloodshot. She holds out a hand to the teen.

"Adam?" She practically whispers. "Adam, listen to me. You don't have to give up hope. I know what it feels like, but… look at the support you've got."

"You know what it feels like?" Adam scoffs, backing away. "You know what it _feels _like? What, to have your body mutate under your skin while you're awake? To start losing your sanity minute by minute? To be dying and know it but be aware through every second? You know what it feels like to-to turn in to a _monster?_" He pants as her skin grows pasty. "No. I don't think you do."

Again, no one speaks for just a moment, stomachs collectively twisting at Adam's description. Sam runs a hand through his hair, tossing the gun away as he speaks quietly.

"No, she doesn't, Adam. She doesn't know what it feels like to… turn into a monster. But I do."

Both his brother's heads snap towards him at the statement.

"Sammy…" Dean says, voice breathy and so pained.

"Dean," Sam returns, calmly. His eyes never leave Adam's. "Believe me, I know. Maybe not the same kind, but I've been there, man. More than once."

Adam frowns. "L-Lucifer?"

Sam fights back a wince. "Yeah, there's one. Then there's the-" his voice catches, and Dean moves forward, but Sam stops him with a gesture. "The demon blood."

The atmosphere is growing ever more oppressive, but Sam stands his ground, breathing deeply. Adam cocks his head, posture marginally less defensive.

"Demon blood?"

Sam swallows hard, and Dean steps closer, catching his gaze and glancing to the agents. Eyes shining, Sam just barely shakes his head. Dean frowns, but nods, drawing nearer until he's mere inches away, giving support, but not of the physical kind. Sam sighs deeply.

"I… almost three years ago, when… well, when all of this started, I was alone for awhile." Dean doesn't miss the way Sam winces when he says that. It's not a full flinch, not anymore, but even after all these years, his eyes still crinkle in the corners. "And I met someone. She started me on a bad habit. It's… it's like a drug, man. I got addicted."

"To-to…" Adam can't seem to get more than that single word out. Sam nods stiffly.

"Yeah. To demon blood. I'm telling you, there's nothing like it. You feel like you can do anything, can save the world and… that's what I was trying to do. It blinded me. But I had never felt better. Until I realized what I was doing. I'd turned myself into exactly what I'd been trying to avoid. So yeah, I get it. I can't tell you how many time I've wanted to give up. But I never did. Because someone always stopped me. And when it was finally all over…" He huffs softly. "Well, here I am."

Adam stands a moment more before crumpling in on himself. Oddly enough, Morgan is the first one to rush forward and support the teen. With only a questioning glance, the agent helps the younger boy to a room, leaving the four remaining team members to stand there in a terse silence. Dean and Sam seem to be oblivious to them. The older brother finally makes contact, reaching out a hand and squeezing Sam's quivering shoulder in a firm grip. Neither of them had talked about… that… for ages. It was over and done with, and too painful. Dean had long since forgiven Sam, and he's let the younger man know that time and again. Sam always did have a problem with acceptance, though. And guilt, of course.

"Sammy," Dean starts, but he doesn't get any further when Sam grips his wrist.

"Dean, don't. I-I know."

They stay frozen for a moment before the smallest of smiles graces Dean's face; the barest glint of moisture makes his eyes shiny. Sam means it. He pulls away.

"Okay, then. I'll go check on zombie boy. I just hope he won't get attracted to your giant brain." And he disappears down the hall.

Sam smiles, letting out a puff of air. When Dean starts joking… he knows everything will be okay. Then his gaze settles on the rest of the profilers, all staring at him, and his face pales.

"Uh, I… You…" What do you say to a group of people who just heard you're a former addict of demon blood? "Sorry."

Prentiss blinks. "What for?" And she files out, Hotch and Garcia following her.

Sam stares after them, shock taking his voice away. It takes a moment for him to realize that Reid didn't leave. He turns awkwardly to the other man, blushing slightly. Reid is fiddling with his shirt button, but when Sam turns, he looks up, straight into his eyes.

"I, ah, used to be one to. An addict."

Sam's eyebrows raise. Dr. Reid doesn't exactly strike him as a druggie. And the agent seems to know it, because he chuckles softly.

"I know, it's odd. But I was captured for a while, and he gave them to me." Sam's expression turns sympathetic, and Reid shifts his feet. But not in awkwardness, he realizes. Something else, something different. As though he's admitting something bad to an older brother. Something he's felt around Morgan a lot. Reid blinks. "Anyway, I know what you feel like. If you want to talk…"

He leaves the invitation open, cocking his head at Sam once more before leaving him alone in the spacious front room. Sam drops into the chair behind him, sighing and running both hands through his hair. A few moments pass before Dean wanders in, gaze automatically snapping to Sam, but he doesn't speak. He roams about the room, finally settling in a couch with a view out the front window. A comfortable silence drapes the space as both brothers drift in their thoughts. Then suddenly, Dean stiffens, hand gripping his armrest hard enough to leave indentations in the soft fabric. Sam frowns.

"Dean?" He questions softly, expression bemused as his brother turns to him, looking pensive and almost fearful. He's about to say something again, when Deans speaks.

"You-you remember when we came across that city that was attacked by the Croatoan virus? Like, the first time?"

Sam nods slowly. Where is this going?

"Well, then you remember… you were immune."

Sam starts to nod again, still puzzled, when he suddenly gets it. "You don't think-this could be like… that?" Then he's up, pacing, hands running agitatedly through his hair. "Maybe that's why it's taking so long to afflict Adam. We share the same blood, and even though he hasn't been fed, you know , I mean, maybe there's something… You don't think that we should…" Sam looks to Dean, confused.

They both jump when a deep, immediately familiar voice comes from the corner.

"Actually, its quite the opposite."

The two turn and freeze for a moment. Dean is the first to find his voice, face pale and shocked. He takes a step forward, then stops, a myriad of emotions crossing his face as Sam stares. Confusion, anger, frustration, relief. He takes a breath.

"… Cas?"


	15. Rescue

_A/N: Wow, I just realized how quickly this starts to move… hope you all like that. :] I'm stoked at the positive feedback you all are giving me. On that note, huge thanks to _**Kaoz,**___who left multiple reviews but sadly is anonymous. Thank you for your valuable time; it means a lot! _

_Anywho: yay! Angel power! I sort of surprised myself in regards to how long it took me to include Cas; I love him! But here he is, as dashing as ever. Well, I'm rambling again, so here we go! _

Castiel steps forward, even now clad in his impeccable dress shirt, slacks, and trench coat. He cocks his head, and Dean thinks he almost sees a smile.

"I apologize I haven't been able to contact you before now."

Dean sighs, forming a fist and releasing it. "Yeah, me too. But, um, it's good to see you."

Cas inclines his head. "You as well, Dean. I've… worried." His gaze turns to the other Winchester. "And you, Sam. I am… very glad to see you out of the cage and well."

Sam nods, clearing his throat through a frustrating tightness. "Yeah. I, uh, missed you too." He half smiles, chuckling quietly.

There's another moment of silence before Dean clears his throat, walking over to clap Cas on the shoulder.

"So what did take you so long, anyway?"

Surprising both brothers, Cas walks over and slumps into the armchair Sam has just vacated. In a ridiculously human gesture, he slides a hand down his face.

"There were… many problems in heaven when I returned."

Dean cocks an eyebrow, obviously waiting for more, but Cas doesn't seem to be in the mood for that certain topic at the moment.

"As it is, there seem to be more urgent problems down here. Adam, for example. As I was saying when I first appeared, it is not quite as you think, though you are not that far off. I believe, rather than Winchester blood hindering this venom-though that most likely does help-it is remnants of Michael's grace that are keeping Adam as he is."

There is a second of stunned silence.

"So, wait." Dean begins. "You're saying because he was Michael's meat suit, he's got some fairy dust crap left that's saving his life?"

"Roughly, yes."

"Does this mean he'll be okay?" Sam questions eagerly, eyes bright and hopeful. Castiel sinks lower into the chair.

"I can guarantee nothing. However, it does significantly increase his chances."

Here, Dean stands, raising his hands in a halting manner. "Hold on a sec. Why can't you just zap him back to normal? I mean, you've still got your mojo, right? You came here."

Castiel pushes himself out of the chair, stepping to the window and directing his intense stare out at the yellowed sky.

"I am not sure how Adam will react. I have never attempted a healing on anyone who is partly angelic."

Sam glances out into the hallway, face hesitant. "Well, what's the risk? Could you make it worse?"

Cas turns back to the brothers. "I do not believe I would push the infection further, but it is possible with Michael's grace still in him, there could be a difficult reaction."

"Define 'difficult reaction,' Cas," Dean growls.

"As you know, upon Michael's death, he was less than happy with me. It is quite plausible that, although they are separated from their original entity, Michael's hatred ran deep enough to be embedded into his very grace. The particles that are left in Adam may well reject my presence."

"How badly?" Sam immediately questions, shifting restlessly.

"Michael's feelings were strong," Cas replies. "But I do not believe it would kill him."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Reassuring." He looks to Sam, locking eyes and communicating soundlessly.

Cas looks on wondrously until Dean turns to him.

"Okay," he nods. "Do it."

The three men file into the hallway, Sam taking the lead as Cas brings up the rear. Before they reach the bedroom Adam and the agents have all taken up residence in, Sam turns around, gaze slightly concerned.

"Um, you should probably wait out here a minute."

Cas cocks his head, obviously about to ask why, when Dean grips his shoulder. "He's right. We need to warn the agents. Don't want to spook them, even if they can't hurt you." When Cas nods, Dean releases him and leans against the wall, waiting for the go-ahead. He taps his fingers against his thigh, making eye contact with the angel. "You're positive this won't make things worse?"

Castiel simply nods, and Dean mirrors the gesture, motioning for the other man to step into the room once Sam shouts to them. The two enter and Castiel merely returns all the stares being pointed his way. Hotch shifts at his position by the window, looking weary.

"Castiel. It's good to meet you."

"And you," the angel returns, still gazing quizzically at the agent, who folds his arms.

"I'm Aaron Hotchner. This is Penelope Garcia, Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss, and Derek Morgan." Even now he can't break out of the habit of introducing his people. "Sam tells us you're… an angel?" He quirks his eyebrow.

"That is correct."

"And you're here to help Adam?" Comes the timid question from Garcia. Castiel switches his stare to her, and she shrinks back even as her eyes widen in awe.

"I intend to, yes."

With that, Cas strides to the bed, where Adam has been sleeping. Sam is already by his side, taking in his deteriorated state. It seems that in the few minutes he's been out of sight, he's gotten so much worse. Skin thin and sallow, fingernails blackening… A wave of nausea washes over Sam as he recalls his vision. His eyes close and he breathes deeply, soaking in strength when Dean gently squeezes the nape of his neck.

"Sam, Dean." They both look up at Castiel's grim voice. "He may need restraining."

Silently, they both take up places at Adam's side, gripping his arms. At their contact, he begins to stir, muttering unhappily. Before he awakens fully, Castiel is there, hand on his forehead.

The change is immediate and violent. Adam's eyes snap open, and he begins straining against Sam and Dean. His head snaps back against the pillow beneath it, panting harshly. His voice seems to have been stolen as his skin begins to glow, ever increasing in brightness. Sam and Dean struggle to keep their holds on him as heat begins to join the light, burning their eyes and hands. They hold on as long as possible, but it becomes too much, and the brothers fall away. A vicious gust of wind snaps the window open, blowing through the room and kicking up papers. Castiel's coat billows around him as he focuses, hand still on Adam, eyes shining with a completely different brightness than the one coming from Adam. He's panting, as well, face twisted in something akin to anger.

"You will _not _take him." His voice reverberates around the small room, deep and dooming.

There's a final flash of light that blinds the occupants for a moment. Then finally it recedes, and it is over. Castiel stumbles away from the bed, nearly falling before Sam steadies him. Everyone is silent, waiting with trembling anticipation, unsure of what to do. Finally, Dean gathers himself up and walks to the bed, where Adam is lying limply, crumpled to his face is hidden. With only the slightest hesitation, he grabs Adam's shoulder and turns him around.

He can't help the grin that stretches his features when Adam is revealed, completely free of any trace of zombie-ness. He hears a gasp and identifies it as Garcia. And when Sam comes over to the other side, taking Adam's hand in his, Dean doesn't comment on the hitch in his breathing. He only gives looks over at him, smiling.

"Is he… is he okay?" That's Emily, and Dean turns to her.

"Yeah," he replies, breathily. "He's good."

There seems to be a collective sigh of relief. The joy in the air is tangible.

"Thanks, Cas." Dean says, with all sincerity. But when he turns to continue, he finds no one there. Funny, he thinks, how he didn't even hear the wings.

"Dean," Sam starts, seeing the flash of devastation and feeling the same way. But Dean doesn't let him finish.

"No, Sammy. It's okay, he'll be back. He's got more important thi-"

"We must go."

Startled, Dean spins around to find Cas, looking dirtier than before.

"Cas? You didn't leave."

The angel's brow crinkles slightly. "No. I was checking the perimeter. And as I stated, we must go."

Still reeling, Sam steps forward. "Why?"

"There are demons… more of them than I've ever seen at once. They are heading here."

"Crap," Dean mutters, kicking the ground in frustration as he turns back to Adam's bed. "Okay. Okay. Where do we go?"

Cas looks like he's about to answer when he suddenly gives a sound that sounds disturbingly close to a gasp, flinging out both arms, one to the door and one towards the group now huddled in the middle of the room. The last thing Dean sees before everything goes dark is the door flying in and a swarm of demons rushing towards them.

~CM~SN~CM~SN~


	16. Sanctuary?

_A/N: Wow. Just realized, this chapter is really short. But I think it's content makes up for that... :3 Hopefully, anyway. So sorry about that. But hey! I was faster this time. :)_

Dean braces himself, expecting impact, but nothing happens. He risks a glance around and his heart nearly stops.

"What the-"

They're scattered in a clearing in some meadow, half of them sitting in shock. Dean's first instinct is to find Sammy, and he sees him kneeling on the damp ground next to a sprawled Adam. Dean takes a step towards them but stops at Castiel's voice.

"My apologies for the abrupt change, but… you saw the urgency."

Dean spins around, head still spinning. "How…? Dude, there's eight of us. Are you okay?"

"I am weary," Castiel admits. "But it will pass."

Dean quirks a smile at him that promptly disappears when a distressed sounding Sam calls his name. He pivots to see Adam twitching; waking up. He hurries over, going to his knees opposite Sam while the agents, still getting their bearings, gather around.

"Adam?" Prompts the younger brother, patting his cheek. "Come on, Adam."

A glint of hazel shines through blonde lashes, sun compelling the lids to flutter quickly. The eyes focus and then widen as Adam abruptly sits up, looking around.

"What happened?" He realizes he's in the sun and flinches before looking disbelievingly down at himself. "Am I… how…" Everyone, barring Cas, grins at his obvious loss for words. He turns to Sam, eyes shining, and jumps at him, wrapping both arms around his neck.

Sam looks completely taken aback, but only for the briefest moment. His arms soon return the hug.

"You… you promised. You did it; you weren't lying. You actually did it."

Sam chuckles, sounding the least bit choked. "Actually, I've gotta give the credit to Cas. But you're welcome."

"You didn't give up on me."

"It's not in my blood," Sam responds, sending a loaded glance to Dean, who nods.

Adam pulls away a minute later, turning to Cas. "Thanks, man." It's short but sincere.

After another moment, Prentiss rises from her crouched position at a tree, approaching Castiel. "Well, I guess if there was any doubt about you being… heavenly before now…" She manages a smile. Cas cocks his head at her, brow furrowed.

"Indeed."

Slowly, the team gathers again, muttering quietly to each other before migrating toward the brothers.

"What now?"

It's a valid question. They can't go back to the house, which unfortunately has all their meager equipment in it. Dean does a quick mental count: he's got his own switch blade in his pocket, the silver salt-inlaid knife in his left boot, a longer curved one in his right, and his handgun in his waistband. Sam has a pistol in his jacket pocket and another handgun in his pants, along with his own knife in his boot.

"I know it probably would've come out before now if you did, but is there any chance you guys have weapons? Or any other supplies?"

The agents all shake their heads. Dean sighs and pulls out his weapons, noting Sam do the same. Dean collects all of them but Sam's preferred knife. He hands the rest out, giving a gun to Emily and Reid, a knife to Morgan and switch blade to Adam, and the iron and salt knife to Hotch. He keeps his own favorite curved knife to himself.

"Penelope, stick close," he says with a wink. But she can tell he's serious, and scurries over to stand at Sam's side, who's already shifting into a defensive stance.

Dean is almost knocked off his feet by a sudden wave of affection for the two. He realizes with no little shock how much Penelope has become like a surrogate mother to Sam and him. He allows a smile to Sam, who immediately understands and returns the gesture, before turning back and taking charge again.

"I guess we're safe for now, but we can't relax just yet. Gotta make some shelter, and food would be nice. Split into teams of two. Sam, with…" Dean pauses, glancing to Garcia, who is still huddled behind his brother's massive form. He sighs. "Penelope." He glances over to see Reid stalking off with Morgan while Hotch and Emily take a different path away. Adam hesitates a moment, glancing to Dean, before nodding to Reid, who's been gesturing for him to join. Dean sweeps his hand in a _'go-ahead' _gesture and sighs as Adam bounds away with them.

"I will accompany you, Dean," Castiel offers, stepping forward.

"Thanks, Cas."

They don't get ten feet before the shout stops them.

Dean's running back before Cas even disappears, heart threatening to crack his ribcage. The voice is immediately recognizable and chillingly clipped, cut off before his name is even finished.

"Gah! Dea-"

Sam.


	17. Wrath

_A/N: Well, that wasn't too bad of a wait, was it? :3 Hope not, because I hate to say it, but that may be relatively fast in the coming weeks. Sorry. I will try to keep it as painless as possible. Anyway, I do hope this chapter makes up for it. I know I've had fun writing it (which really makes me a terrible person, but hey… sue me)! I'll let you to it, then. Tell me what you think. _

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

Dean races through the trees, ignoring the branches whipping across his bare arms and face. He glimpses Sam's coat through the green needles. He seems to be leaning against a tree… No, he's too tense for just… Dean swears. He skids to a stop just behind the tree Sam is trapped against. Across from him, walking casually his way, is a black-eyed Penelope Garcia. Dean, keeping up a vicious litany of mental expletives, turns and nearly gives away his cover as he comes face-to-face with burning blue eyes. Dean pulls back, pressing a hand to his chest. Castiel stares at him, breath shallow.

"Dean. The situation is dire."

"Yeah, I can see that, Cas… did you follow me… as in, by running?"

"I used much energy bringing us here."

"Right." Dean falls silent as Penelope begins speaking.

"Oh, Sammy, you fell right into this one, didn't you?" Her voice is cold and sly, not at all the norm for Garcia. It's sickening. She runs her hands along her body, face crinkling into a derisive expression. "You know, I wish I could've gotten the skinny one, but this was so much easier."

"You get out of her," Sam demands, his voice clearly strained. "Or I swear, we will-" he cuts off with a gasp of pain, and Dean's vision flashes red.

"Uh uh, Sammy. None of that now. I just want to have some fun." She saunters closer to him, uncomfortably close. She inhales deeply, letting out a hum of satisfaction. "Mmm. All that power. You are just _delicious._"

"Why don't you go back to where you came from, because I am _not_ giving you anything you want."

_Attaboy, Sammy! _Dean mentally cheers, fists clenching.

"Oh, we'll see about that. You know in Hell, I'm considered to be one of the _best _torturers… and well, down there, we know what we're talking about."

The next gasp is choked, and Dean can tell Sam is holding a cry in. Garcia makes a sound of displeasure, turning away. Dean grinds his teeth.

"Cas, how much mojo you got left?"

"Not much. However, I believe I may be able to vanquish the demon, if that is your request."

"Yeah. Just don't hurt Garcia, okay?"

Castiel nods, but he doesn't move. When Dean cocks an eyebrow at him, he blinks. "If you wish me to kill it, I may require a diversion."

"Oh, for the love of…" Dean steps out from behind the tree. "Hey! Hell spawn! Over here." Garcia immediately spins towards him, swinging a hand up, and Dean flies back to land in a heap on the ground.

"You're not involved in this, Dean."

"Like heck I'm not," comes the furious growl.

"Oh, that's right," she taunts, "You mess with Sammy you mess with his darling older brother, _right?_" She smirks. "Well then, come and get me."

Dean lunges but is promptly tossed across the ground to smack into the tree directly opposite Sam. He hears his brother shout his name, and distantly realizes that it doesn't sound normal, but he can't answer before he begins sliding up the large pine, back scraping painfully against the bark. His vision is fuzzy, but he blinks away the spots… and stops breathing.

"Sammy…"

Sam looks at him almost apologetically through the deep grimace on his face. Dean can't look away, though; can't look away from his brother's abdomen. The lower left portion of his stomach that's been impaled by the sharp end of a broken branch, leaving him literally pinned to the tree.

"Dean, don't-" but he doesn't finish. Cas comes up behind Garcia just as she's lifting her hand for another attack. He grips her around the upper arms and lays a hand on her forehead, and she screams once, the cry turning to more of a guttural growl as the creature in her is sent away. She slumps.

Sam has been straining throughout the whole process. "Cas, no!"

As soon as Garcia's hold on Dean is released, he's running. Across to Sam.

"Sam! Sammy, don't move. Don't move. She's okay, Sammy, just-just…" Dean presses his hands against Sam's shoulders, supporting him against the tree even as tears fill his eyes. This is bad. "Cas, do something!"

Dean feels Castiel approach him from the side. "I am sorry, Dean. I… I can not."

"What do you mean, you can't? You have to! Look at him, Cas!"

Sam replies before Cas can. "Dean, it's okay. It's okay. Look-look at me." He struggles to keep his voice steady. "It's on the-the lower left side. I don't think… it hit anything important. There's… there's nothing there."

But even as the words are uttered, Dean feels a deep shudder run through Sam's body before he slumps further back, sweat coating his face. He's about to offer more probably meaningless words of comfort when a sharp gasp reaches his ears. He turns his gaze, seeing Prentiss enter the scene, followed by the rest of the agents and Adam. They rush to Garcia while Adam sees Sam and grows pale, running over. Cas slips Penelope into Morgan's arms, and he lowers her gently to the ground. Adam stops by Sam's side, trembling.

"What happened?"

"Penelope was possessed," Dean grunts, arms trembling as he tries to keep Sam up, moving a hand to his neck. "Hey, hey, stay with me, buddy."

Adam's face becomes even paler. "Sh-she did this?"

"Not her-the demon. Hey! Sam!" He pauses, drawing closer to his brother, desperation leeching into his tone. "Look at me, Sammy. Stay with me." He swears violently. But when he speaks again to Adam, his voice is strangely calm. "Adam. There was a medical book in your bag. Did you go over it?" Adam nods minutely. "This is very important. If we get Sam off of here, will he bleed out? Can you remember?"

"There's no need." A small voice interrupts. Dean knows without looking that it's Spencer. He's joined them. "I can definitely tell you that there will be no more ill effects of you removing it than keeping it in."

Dean is silent for a moment, staring into Sam's watering eyes. He nods.

"Okay, then. Sammy? Sammy, did you hit your head when she tossed you into this thing?"

Sam winces and nods. "Yeah. But… I don't have a concussion. Promise."

Dean searches his gaze a moment more before sighing quietly. "Okay then. You don't have to stay awake."

"Yeah. I know."

Dean motions to Adam, who immediately tucks the borrowed knife into his boot and shifts to Sam's left side, while Dean covers the right. He keeps a hand on the back of Sam's neck, reassuring. Unfortunately, that means he can feel every tremor that passes through his body. And when they start pushing, albeit gently, he can feel the muscles knot up so fast and hard he's afraid they'll tear. He growls in panicked frustration when Sam reflexively starts fighting, chest heaving as he scrabbles at the bark behind him.

"Sammy! You've gotta calm down. I know it's hard, man, but it's always worse when you tense up. You know that. Dad taught us that when we were dealing with skinned knees, huh? Come on man, try to chill. Breathe through it. Breathe with me."

And Sam does. He clenches his teeth and is suddenly thrown back to a much easier time.

_Sam is lying on the front yard, teeth nearly biting through his lip while hot tears run down his smooth face. His ten-year-old brother is kneeling next to him, putting on a brave face, but even now Sam can tell he's scared. Sam's bone is sticking through his skin, after all. _

"_Calm down, Sammy," Dean begs, his hand on Sam's chest. "You're gonna hurt yourself, man." He's already called 911. _

_Sam can't talk, but he knows Dean is there and can still hear him through his sobs. _

"_Come on, Sammy. You're going into shock. Breathe for me, huh? Breathe with me, Sammy… breathe with me."_

_Dean deliberately exaggerates his breathing, and Sam struggles to match it. He focuses so hard on the task it actually lessens the pain in his arm, and he barely notices when the paramedics arrive. _

"_Thattaboy, Sammy… just focus on me… focus on me, Sam…" _

"Sam? Sammy?"

Sam realizes he's done it again. His breathing has slowed enough to be as normal as it can get right now. Then he's moving again, but down this time. To the ground, he realizes. He really doesn't know what he'd do without Dean. Well, actually… he does.

"Sammy, you with me?"

Right. Dean.

"Y-yeah…"

"Oh, thank God. Scared the crap outta me, ya freak."

Sam gasps as a spasm runs through his body, twisting his fists into the ground. Then one of them is unwound and gripped firmly. The warmth and strength in the firm hold soaks into the rest of him, and Sam just glimpses worried hazel irises before they fade away with everything else.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~


	18. The Knowledge of Recovery

_A/N: Hey, a long one! (Un)fortunately, depending on your perspective, this is lots of self-indulgent hurt/comfort. Teehee. You knew it was coming. _

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

Dean lets out a long breath, closing his eyes. That was close. Way, way too close. And they still have so far to go. It's nearing night time and they are too far in the open for Dean's liking. But there's the small problem of moving Sam, who was out pretty much as soon as he hit the ground. Dean removes his jacket and slips is under Sam's head, then shifts to his brother's torso, grimacing at the bloody mess of his shirt. He starts unbuttoning it. Usually, he'd just cut it, but they don't exactly have extra clothes right now. He knows they need shelter, but Sammy always comes first.

Dean uncovers the wound and nearly throws up. Not because it's the worst he's ever seen-it's not-but because he feels sick every time Sam is hurt. Guilt rushes in and he tries to fight it back, jumping when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns to see Reid, holding out a flask of water.

"It's, um, holy water. I grabbed it from the house earlier… thought we might need it. I figure right now, it's better than nothing. Right?"

Dean takes it, blinking at him. "Uh, yeah, that's… that's great, man." He turns away, but tenses in surprise again when Reid speaks.

"Yeah. And, um, you should stop blaming yourself. He hates it when you do that." Then he's gone.

Dean just turns back to Sam, alternating between affronted and confused. He shrugs it off and leans over Sam, pouring a small amount of the water over the wound. Nothing happens but for a small whimper from Sam. Dean refuses to acknowledge the feelings it stirs in his chest. He hears footsteps again and immediately identifies them as Hotch's. The older agent crouches beside him, looking down at Sam with more worry than Dean expected. He supposes he isn't the only one who can care about his brother. It's just so hard to let people in any more. And now this…

"How is he?"

Dean sighs deeply, obviously trying to control his raging emotions. "As good as he can be right now, I guess."

Hotch nods. "That's good." He keeps his voice quiet. "We found a small cave that can fit all of us snugly and set up a small cushioned section with brush. It's not much, but it should help."

"Thanks." Dean can't say anymore before his throat tightens up. He clears it roughly, furious at how something so stupid is tearing down his barriers. Then something occurs to him, and he turns to Hotch before the other man can leave. "Has Garcia woken up yet?"

"Yes. She's fine… physically."

Dean understands the unspoken implication all too well. "All right, then." He rubs the back of his neck. "Think you can take me to the cave?" He slips his arms under Sam and stands with a deep grunt. "Hope it's not too far."

"It isn't," Hotch assures, eyeing him for just a moment before turning and walking away.

Dean follows, keeping Sam close to protect him from hitting stray branches. His brother's regular breathing and heartbeat reassure him immeasurably, and by the time they're at the cave, he's ready to relax just the smallest bit. He lays Sam on the mat of leaves and twigs, taking up a seat by his head and laying a hand on it. Without even the briefest thought for sleep, he settles in to watch for the night. It's a while before he hears a choked gasp come from the front of the cave. His head snaps up, gaze hot until it hit's the source.

Garcia is standing a few feet away from Sam's feet, hands covering her mouth, tears already starting to run down her face. Dean's heart sinks.

"Penelope…" he starts, surprising her. Apparently she hadn't know he was there. "Listen, Penelope, very carefully. I don't want to have to say this a million times." She locks gazes with him after a minute and nods, somewhat fearfully. He musters up all the conviction he has at the moment. "This. Was _not _your fault. And you know Sam would be saying the same thing if he were awake. So don't even think about blaming yourself. You couldn't stop it, and we _both _know that too well, okay?"

She nods haltingly again before stumbling away, and Dean falls against the cave wall with a heavy outtake of air. He immediately sits back up, however, when Sam shifts against his leg. He moves quickly, sliding down so he's at Sam's side, facing him.

"Sammy? Sam? You in there?"

A flash of pain crosses the younger brother's face, and Dean suddenly wishes with everything in him that they still had the med bag. He resists the urge to check the wound again, eyes glued to Sam's fluttering lids.

"That's it, Sammy. Listen to me and come on back, ya wuss."

Despite the nature of the comment, Dean knows that it's not because of the insult, but the fear in his voice behind it that prompts Sam to open his eyes. He instantly tenses, sucking in a harsh breath.

"Jerk." He chokes out, but the effect is wasted when the word tapers off in a gasp as he bites his lip, hand flopping weakly on Dean's leg.

Dean grasps it, eyes widening when Sam returns his grip nearly tenfold. He swears under his breath.

"Dean… w-what happened?"

"You don't remember?"

"I-uh-agh, jeez. I, um, there was… a tree?"

Dean snorts. "You could say that. What else?" He prompts. _You promised me there was no concussion, Sammy, come on._

"Uh-" Sam's eyes suddenly widen, and he freezes for a moment. "Oh, no. P-Penelope? Is she…?"

"She's fine, Sam. So you remember?"

Sam nods, brow crinkling. His right hand find it's way across his torso to his injury, but it halts above it when Dean grabs his wrist.

"No touching, man."

"Yeah, I know, sorry. I just…" He presses his head against the ground, breathing out shortly.

"I know. I'm sorry, Sammy." Dean pauses. "I've gotta check it, okay? Hold still." He leans over, pulling away the still-undone shirt.

He sees the red, broken skin right away and swears, frowning as he probes around the jagged exit sight. Sam jerks away, panting.

"Hey, hey, come on. Hold still, man."

"Sorry," Sam whispers. He shuts his eyes. "Hurts, Dean." His voice sounds six years old, and Dean is shocked to feel a warm trail down his face. Must be a leak in the cave. Funny, he doesn't hear rain.

"I know, Sammy. Just keep breathing for me."

"Yeah, okay."

Dean looks away from his face and down at the injury, focusing on any foreboding signs. For the moment, all seems well. He takes off his over shirt and tears the sleeves off., also using his knife to slit the remaining part in half. He's been hoping the bleeding would stop on its own-unlikely. It's still oozing pretty badly, so Dean bunches up the first half in his right hand and sets his other on Sam's hip.

"Sammy? You still awake?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I'm gonna roll you over-just a little. Gotta get this under you."

Sam just sighs, and Dean takes it as an all-clear. He has his hand under Sam's side when someone softly clears their throat. He turns to see Prentiss approaching, finger idly twirling in her hair. For some reason, Dean gets the feeling she hasn't done that for a long time. She stops a few feet from the two.

"Do you guys need any help?"

Dean nearly denies it, simply out of habit, but stops and thinks it over. It would make the job easier. He glances over to Sam, just to make sure, before nodding at her.

"Yeah, thanks."

She nods and comes to kneel next to him.

"Just tell me what to do."

Dean instructs her quietly, telling her where to place her hands and explaining the simple procedure. He's very succinct, though, taking no chances where Sammy's involved. After a couple minutes, he pulls away, nodding at her. She carefully slides both hands under Sam, where Dean instructed, and lifts. Sam gasps, but only shortly before he visibly restrains himself, trembling. Dean practically shoves his shirt underneath him and helps Emily lower Sam the few inches back to his 'bed.' Dean gives her a thumbs-up before he takes his other makeshift bandage in hand and packs it into place. Sam groans, and Dean gives him a squeeze on the shoulder.

"All right, man, almost done. Just gotta tie it all together."

Sam almost snaps at him how he knows how it's done, but what he also knows is Dean talks through things when he's worried (_scared_), and he doesn't have enough energy to snap, anyway. So he settles for what has become his favorite word.

"Yeah."

"This one's a little trickier. I've gotta tie these," Dean holds up his shirt sleeves, now tied together, "around him. So… I'll lift, and you slide it under."

She looks uncertain. "Are you sure?"

He almost laughs. "Yeah, I'm sure. Sam may look like a bean pole, but the kid's freakin' heavy."

She smiles and agrees. "Okay, then."

Without another word, Dean lifts Sam off the ground, and Emily swiftly slides the sleeves underneath him. He's lowered and Dean has the ends in his hands before she can blink. Then he's looking at her, his face more open than normal. She's noticed before, but it hits her hard now just how much Dean's defenses are attached to Sam. If he's down, so are they.

"Thanks a lot, Emily. You've been a big help."

She knows that's her dismissal. And, looking at Sam, she can tell he's been holding a lot in for her sake. So she just smiles at them both, gets up, and leaves. She knows she's right when Sam's pained yell echoes through the forest towards her back. She keeps walking.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

The agents, Adam, and Castiel have been out gathering firewood and, if possible, food. But a few minutes after Emily leaves Sam and Dean, she gathers everyone up and leads the way back to the cave. The two brothers are pressed up against the far wall, Sam asleep or unconscious and Dean back at his head, hand still resting on his hair. He looks up only briefly when they enter, and as soon as he realizes they aren't a threat, his gaze drops back to Sam. The group files into the alcove and drop their burdens into the center. Morgan begins sorting through it, separating the wood from the edibles. When he's done, he hands out the few berries and roots Spencer says are okay to eat, and throws out the others.

"I don't suppose anyone's got a lighter?" He asks, half-jokingly. He's surprised when Dean reaches into his pocket and pulls one out, tossing it to him. "Sweet." He starts working on getting the flames to go.

Reid shuffles over to the brothers, landing awkwardly at Sam's feet.

"You should really eat that," he almost whispers, pointing to the discarded food at Dean's own feet.

"Not hungry," is the growled reply, and Spencer wisely leaves it alone.

"How's he doing?"

"The same." Dean never looks away from his face; he would know. "But we won't know if there's an infection for awhile."

Adam has been listening in, and speaks now. "It'll take at least-"

"Twenty eight hours, twelve minutes," Dean fills in softly. Adam blinks.

"What?"

"That's correct," Spencer pipes in, brow furrowed. "It generally takes twenty four to thirty six hours for infection to set in."

"It takes twenty eight hours and twelve minutes. For Sam. If one does set it, it'll be fully there by then."

No one questions him, but they all shift against the wall. Already it's been four hours.

It's going to be a very long night.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~


	19. Tentative Awakenings

_A/N: Okay, guys. I'm super sorry about the shortness/superfluity of this chapter but here's the deal: the next one is one of the huge, important ones, and it needed to be all one section. So, that will make up for this, and will hopefully be up sooner than this one was. I had no idea it had been that long! :D Ah, summer. Anyway, on we go. _

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

Dean and Castiel are the only ones not to sleep that night. In the morning, Dean's internal clock, which has been silently counting down the minutes since Sam was hurt, says it's been twelve hours. They drag by torturously slow. Cas says nothing during that time, he just watches, like always. In all honesty, Dean is grateful he's there. He'd never admit it, but figures Cas can probably sense it or something anyway. As per normal, Dean sees nothing but Sam through those hours.

Reid is the first to wake. He does it quietly, but Dean feels the flinch in the air. Nightmare. He recognizes the feel, and sighs inwardly.

"You okay?"

Reid looks over in surprise, eyebrows raising when he realizes Dean has actually taken his eyes off Sam to look at him.

"Uh, y-yeah. I'm fine."

"What are they about?" The inquiry is casual, as if Dean does this normally. And he probably does, Reid realizes.

"My, um… our friends. How they… It's a little silly, I know. After all we've seen, and I'm still dreaming about people."

"I know they were important to you; it makes sense. And hey, you don't decide what you dream about." Hmm, sounds familiar.

Reid nods. "Yes, but there must some subconscious reason. I mean, I've never been a great supporter of dream interpretation, but-" he halts. "Anyway. I thought they'd stop. I suppose it's the stress."

"Yeah, I can believe that. Sammy's always get worse when he's stressed out, or worried, or scared." Dean clears his throat. "Fire's out."

The rapid deflection takes Reid aback for a moment, but he soon catches up and nods, going to search for the lighter. He spies Adam stirring out of the corner of his eye and idly notes they were also the last two to fall asleep. Different schedules, he supposes, wondering what's kept Adam on such an odd one. Reid himself has never been much of a sleeper.

Adam wakes slowly, wallowing for a moment in a peaceful lull before being unpleasantly slammed back into reality. He's sitting almost before his eyes are open, scooting over to sit by Dean. He says nothing, just leans there against the wall, watching his two brothers. He spies the dried blood that's turned Dean's formerly pale shirt reddish-brown, and nudges the older man.

"You might wanna change that," he suggests, gesturing to the 'bandage.'

Dean starts, seeming to come out of some sort of trance. He swears softly, scrambling awkwardly out of his slumped position. Wincing, he stretches out the cramps before shuffling over on his knees to Sam's side. He pulls out the water and dribbles it over the shirt before painstakingly peeling it off. Sam starts moving before he gets to the second patch. Dean's instantly leaning over him, hand on his face.

"Sammy?"

Sam shakes his head and mumbles something, face pinched.

"Hey, Sam. Stick with me, man."

Adam is still silent, but he watches, tensed and hoping nearly as much as Dean. He realizes that Hotch and Prentiss have woken up and are also watching. Adam thinks it's the hopeful atmosphere in the room that finally brings Sam back. He always has been such a believer in hope, after all.

"Dean?"

There is a collective sigh of relief.

"Yeah, right here, dude. Took you long enough."

Sam shifts, but quickly aborts any other plans he had to move as the blood drains from his face. "Ow," he gasps, hand finding its way to Dean's jacket.

"I know. Hold on, I've just gotta clean you up a little, then we can get you comfortable, huh?"

Sam only nods. Dean grabs the water and dribbles it down his side again, gently pulling the other piece of his shirt out from under Sam and turning it over to a cleaner part. Sam lays there docilely, breathing shallow. He doesn't move until Dean starts flushing the wound. His hand tightens in the leather of Dean's coat, teeth clenched. It only takes a moment, but by the time Dean pulls back, Sam's hair is plastered to his head with sweat.

"Could we not do that?"

"Sorry, man. You know it's important."

Sam doesn't reply, only lays back, sulking. Dean chuckles and ruffles his hair. "Man up, princess. You're lucky I'm not rubbing dirt in it."

He quickly redoes the tie connecting the bandages and tips the flask to Sam's lips before leaning back on his knees. His tangible joy spreads a message of relief to everyone, and the stress is that much less. Even though they have an injured member, they're living in the woods, and food is a daily question, they're together and safe. Right now, that's all that matters.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~


	20. Unknown Pursuit

_A/N: Oh, my goodness. It's been awhile, huh? I'm super sorry… especially for the length, after the ridiculous wait. But I had to post something, just to let you know I'm not dead and I haven't given up on this fic. Not by a long shot! Anyway, I'll stop rambling. RL is ridiculous, eh? _

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

It takes half an hour for her to approach. Sam's been counting. Normally, he'd be the one to start the conversation, but he's too worn out. Thirty minutes after she wakes up, Garcia comes over, eyes on the ground. Dean is asleep next to him, having given in after insistent prompting by Sam. He smiles weakly as she approaches.

"Hey."

She sniffles and sits back on her folded legs. "Hey."

"How's it goin?"

Shrugging, she brushes her hands along her skirt, smoothing imaginary wrinkles. "Mm."

Sam huffs out a soft laugh. "Wow. I get why that always annoys Dean so much now."

"What?" She questions, finally looking at him.

"Whenever I feel guilty he gets cranky. Seems to think I blame myself for everything. Really, it almost always is my fault… anyway. It's stupid, so stop it. None of this was your fault."

She manages a smile. "You guys sound so alike, you know that? I really hate you two sometimes." The small brightening she experienced fades quickly when she looks back to Sam, gaze wandering to his stomach, still bloody, before it goes to his hands. Her brow furrows. "You're shaking."

Sam shifts against the floor, having removed the branches earlier when they became dry and uncomfortable. "It's nothing. I mean, the floor's just cold."

Garcia reaches out, seeming to have abandoned her awkwardness in her worry. She puts the back of her hand to his neck but pulls away almost as soon as she touches him, gasping.

"Sam! You're burning up!"

"No, Penelope, it's-"

But she's already shaking Dean. Sam sighs as he snaps awake and nearly takes her head off, but she backs off and he's going to him before Sam can even process it. Come to think of it, he _is _pretty cold… He hears a curse and looks up to Dean, who's running an agitated hand through his hair.

"You're right on schedule, Sammy," he mutters angrily, meeting his brother's confused gaze.

"Schedule, Dean?"

"Twenty-eight hours, twelve minutes. You're about twenty two away."

"Oh." Sam says nothing else, just lays there trembling.

It lasts about half a minute before Dean slides over behind him and gently levers him up, pulling them both against the wall with Sam folded in Dean's arms, his hands rubbing briskly but carefully over Sam's arms. It is a sight both achingly beautiful and heartbreaking at once as Sam visibly relaxes into his older brother. His absolute, unfailing trust and love in him almost brings Garcia to tears again. She notices his trembling has stopped. That lasts about twenty minutes before it starts again, harder than before. Dean sighs and grips Sam tighter. Garcia counts. Its two minutes before Dean hitches up Sam's shirt to reveal red, puffy skin. He drops the hem without a word.

It's five minutes before she realizes Castiel is gone.

Seven before he comes back, pale and… shaking?

Ten before they're running as fast as they can from the cave.

Thirteen before Sam, fevered and delirious, drops.

Fifteen before Garcia makes a decision.

Sixteen before everything ends.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

Sam loses track of things after Dean pulls him up into his arms. It's been a long time since they've, well, shown this much affection in public. Or at all. Sam thinks it's nice, and he remembers when he was smaller and Dean would do this all the time. Then he realizes how bad it must be if Dean is voluntarily being chick-flicky, but he can't find the energy to care. Something's sapping all of his life force, and for some reason Sam feels like its stemming from this weird pressure in his side. Like a wraith…

His thoughts go hazy for awhile, until the cave is suddenly _charged _with energy. Then Dean is hauling him up, sending fire along Sam's side and he thinks he might yell but he's not sure and then they're moving. Fast. Until they're not. Sam is really confused. Then he notices Dean's not holding him anymore, or at least not upright. His brother's still got his arms around him, they're just on the ground.

Sam lazily wonders if it was his fault. He's still unsure what's going on, but Dean's there so it must be okay. Except… he's yelling. Pretty frantically. Sam is a little worried, now, but it's ridiculously hard to concentrate on anything. Then there's a flash… a bright one, and suddenly everything is quiet.

Until it's not.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~


	21. Disentegration

_A/N: Hey, look at that! I'm alive! :) Are any of you still there? Haha, I sincerely apologize for the wait. I've had no end of business. It hasn't slowed that much, but it has enough for me to focus on this a little bit more and post this. _

_About this, now... I'm sorry. Don't kill me. And always remember: just wait. _

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

Dean is too focused on Sam and his now-definite infection to notice Castiel leaving. But he certainly notices his return-it causes a flurry of activity when he tells everyone to get up and move.

"What's happening?" Dean questions with some urgency, already pulling Sam up. He winces when Sam gives a weak yell, but seems to stay oblivious. Dean swears.

"There are angels approaching."

"Angels?" Dean queries, eyebrows raised. They haven't seen angels since Before. He frowns. "Why are they here? Why is that bad? Are they…?" He doesn't complete the question, not knowing what to call anything anymore.

"I'm not sure. I think the best course of action is to tread carefully but quickly away. Angels and humans are not on the best of terms."

That seems to be the motivator. The group springs into action, following Castiel from their haven, away through dark bushes in controlled anxiety. Dean does well keeping up with the group, even with a nearly-limp Sam, until the aforementioned brother simply drops, taking Dean down with him.

Dean twists awkwardly so as not to fall on Sam, but is up again on his knees in mere seconds, turning to face the younger Winchester.

"Sam, come on, don't do this now."

He pats his cheek. Sam is still awake, but completely unresponsive. Dean turns frantic eyes to Cas.

"You couldn't heal him earlier because you were out of juice. What about now? You've had time to rest, haven't you?"

"Dean, that is not the only reason I can not attempt a healing. You will recall what happened with Adam when I drew the poison from his veins. That reaction was from an angel's remnants. Think of the consequences if I tried with Lucifer's essence still in Sam."

Dean clenches his fist. "But Adam was okay afterwards. It was intense, but he's fine now. Why would it be different with Sam? And besides, didn't you use your stuff on him when you transported all of us here?"

"The relocation is a different process. It's less invasive; more like throwing a blanket over him than stabbing him in the chest. As for the first part, the reaction would be much more severe, and as Sam is already injured, I could not promise recovery."

Clenching a fist, Dean turns back to Sam, panic gnawing through his sternum. "Please, Sammy," he begs, his voice becoming choked. "Don't do this now."

Everyone freezes at the clap that rings through the trees.

"Aww. You guys are so sweet."

Dean stiffens, eyes widening. He knows that voice.

"Hello, boys. Long time no see."

Slowly, Dean turns. Though he knew, it still nearly stops his heart when he sees Gabriel standing there, still in his old body, smirking at him.

"I see you recognize me. Really, I'm flattered." He grins, spreading his arms. "Miss me?"

"How did you…? You said…"

"Yeah, yeah. I was dead. You see, there's this biblical prophecy that says at the end times, souls will be risen? I mean, along with all the carnage. Well, that includes angels, too."

Dean blinks, trying to form a response, but Gabriel's talking before he can utter a sound. "Here's the thing, though. As much as I like you two, this isn't just a happy casual visit. I've got a friend in some trouble. Her vessel, for some strange reason, is failing. She needs another, and fast. So if anyone wants to step up to the plate… they won't be hurt. Think of it as a ride… oh, and it'll only be for a little while. Until we find someone permanent."

There's a beat of silence. The profilers are staring, taking the scene in and trying to avoid being overwhelmed. Gabriel stands in front of them all, watching with an unreadable expression. Penelope shifts.

"Would it hurt?"

All heads snap towards her. Derek clenches his fists. "You're not seriously considering this-"

"No." Gabriel cuts Morgan off, stepping forward and ignoring the fiery glare that's shot his way. "It would be like nothing you've ever felt before… but it doesn't hurt."

"And… its important. I mean, she's really a-a dying angel?"

Gabriel nods. Penelope shuffles forward, hands tugging on each other. As she bites her lip, Gabriel's features morph into a surprisingly soft expression, and he sets a hand on her shoulder.

"It would only be for a while, a week at most. You won't feel any ill effects afterwards, I promise."

Garcia's gaze drops towards Dean and, by extension, Sam. It is tentatively questioning. Dean returns the look with one of his own. It's wary and pained but clearly says, _your choice. He's telling the truth._

She nods, and stands straighter. Looking back to Gabriel, she stares into his eyes as he smiles.

"Yes."

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

Dean stiffens after she says the words, flinching at the bright flash afterwards and slamming his eyes shut. Everyone is frozen for what seems the longest time. Even Dean, staring at the point where they were mere seconds before. Until, that is, Sam shifts and groans beneath his hand, which has been resting on his chest. He's snapped out of his stupor, and his world again becomes his brother.

"Sammy?"

Another groan, before hazel eyes, clouded with pain but also, Dean notes with immense relief, awareness look up at him.

"Dean?" The whisper is broken but clear.

Regardless of who's watching, Dean leans over and pulls Sam into a gentle embrace. "You scared me, man."

"Sorry… what happened?"

Dean pulls away, tugging on Sam's shirt. "Um… Gabriel showed up and Garcia went with him to act as a host for some angel. She'll be back."

Sam's brow crinkles faintly. "She wen-" He cuts off with a sharp gasp as Dean starts pulling the blood-soaked bandage away.

Trying futilely to forget all that's happened, Dean focuses on something he's always been able to help with-Sam. He pries the bandage of Sam's side, ever aware of the other's harsh breathing. He vaguely registers Adam dropping to his knees opposite him, but his eyes are glued on the wound at Sam's side. It's still swollen and red, and he can see yellow fluid leaking out the side. He glances up to Sam's face, but only for a moment before he lowers his hands and probes around the sight. Sam lets out a sound halfway between a curse and a growl-hypersensitivity-and the skin feels tight. Dean swears.

"Never could do things the easy way, dude."

"Not the Winchester way." Sam huffs, grinding his teeth a moment before quickly speaking. "How is Gabriel alive?"

Dean recognizes the diversion tactic for what it is, and almost smiles as he pulls out the water. "He said something about there being a passage in the bible about souls being risen for the apocalypse and angels being included."

Sam nods, as if he knows exactly what that means-which he probably does, the geek.

"Jeez, Sam," Dean whispers. "We can't leave this open…"

"Too bad all our supplies are at the house, huh?" Sam huffs, blinking hard. "S'okay, Dean. We're already past the worst of it."

"You don't know that!" Eyebrows raise at Dean's sudden outburst. But his shoulders soon slump, hands twisting in the shriveled grass at his knees. "It could-get worse…"

Sam's expression twists at the strange tone and hesitation, but he half-smiles and brushes it off. "Dean, we can't do anything about it right now except what you have already. Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault."

"You know, Sammy. You're right," Dean says, just before his eyes turn yellow. "It's yours."

And he plunges his knife into Sam's chest.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~


	22. Desperation's Drive

_A/N: So. You guys were so amazing with your feedback, I was encouraged enough to post again today! This right here, is The Chapter. I know this has been a multi-climax story, but this is the one. I can only hope I get across what I was hoping to. It's actually rather short, but I think it's fitting. Hope you agree. Also, this definitely isn't the last chapter. There will be a couple more. And I'm thinking of maybe extending this into a 'verse. _

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

Before anyone can react, Dean's head is thrown back and a plume of smoke the color of dead grass is racing away. He slumps, but even as he's racked with harsh coughs, his hands are going to Sam's chest, eyes desperate. He leans over his brother, tears already making their way down his face.

"Sam! No, no, no. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Sammy, god please no, Sammy, come on. Stay with me." He tears what's left of his over shirt off, wrapping it gingerly around the knife. Sam's skin is nearing translucent as he coughs, blood spattering onto his lips. Dean sobs. "Sammy…"

"D-Dean… don't-" he gasps, eyes briefly twisting closed. Gurgling comes from within his chest. "I'm sorry." Water is dripping down his own face, tracking down his temples to the ground beneath him.

Dean leans over him, one hand on his face, the other holding his shirt down. Sam holds eye contact for another moment before going limp. Dean can't catch a breath, already hyperventilating, hand gripping Sam's shirt so tightly it's bound to rip.

"S-sammy? Sammy, please. Please."

The agents haven't moved, unable to take a single action. Everything happened so fast. Adam is frozen at the tree line, mouth agape, gaze glued to the scene just feet in front of him. Emily has taken hold of Derek's arm, hand clapped over her mouth. Morgan has turned to stone, face expressionless, while Reid beside him can barely hold himself up. He falls back against the tree behind him. Hotch is the first to move, turning and stalking into the forest. Castiel stands a few feet away, face locked in a too-human expression of shock. It turns to something resembling grief when Dean speaks to him, face still turned towards his brother.

"Cas. You can fix this, right?" His voice is unbelievably choked. "You have to be able to fix this. Please. I don't care what it takes."

"I… I can't. I'm… sorry, Dean." Shockingly, a single tear rolls down Cas's cheek.

"Why not?" Dean roars, pounding the soil with his fist. "There has to be _something_! After _all this-_!" He breaks off, curling into himself.

The air is frozen, harsh, shocked grief crackling through the atmosphere. There's hardly time to take a breath before a twig snaps. Dean's head snaps up, eyes blazing, as a figure struts out from within the trees.

"You," he seethes.

Azazel smirks. "Gotta pay more attention to your boo-boos, Dean. Some of 'em can be worse than you think."

Dean shows no puzzlement, but doesn't move for a moment until his face loses a shade of color. His hand tugs down his shirt collar, exposing the possession protection symbol. There's a thin line of blood across the top, hardly more than a scratch. Dean's face crumples into a pure rage, and he grasps the iron-inlaid knife, hardly looking up before he throws it hard. It sinks into Azazel's neck. The demon stumbles backwards, grunting deeply. He recovers and pulls the weapon out, eyebrow raised.

"That one stung a little, Dean." He growls. "You've never stopped being a pest."

There's no reply. Dean's fingers are twitching at his sides, every muscle in his body taught. Azazel grins, obviously about to make a snide remark, when his head snaps to the side, blood spraying the tree next to him. More gunshots ring out, knocking him back further. Dean looks over in surprise to see Reid standing stiffly, emptying his clip into the creature. It has no effect, but Azazel does look slightly ticked.

"Bad Dean, rubbing off on your so-called friends like that. But I've got some friends of my own."

He lifts an eyebrow and both his hands as at least a dozen more vessels step out from behind him.

"Let's play."

The demons pull out weapons of various styles and sizes, and stalk forwards. Dean's mind is a whirl, still in denial of Sam's fall; unable to process the events. Castiel is stepping forward when Gabriel and Penelope appear, in the middle of the two groups. The archangel takes a step forward, face more serious than Dean's ever seen it.

"Azazel." The name is dripping with loathing, even though it's delivered in Gabriel's trademark casual tone.

"Gabe. Nice to see you alive. How you been?"

"Cut the crap. You know the rules."

"Rules?" Azazel scoffs. "It's the apocalypse, man. We're done with rules."

Gabriel starts glowing, and Dean looks away. The agents take his cue, averting their gazes no matter how great the urge to see it all unfold. Gabriel speaks again, this time in a mix of his vessel and angelic voice, the tone deep and damning.

"Leave, creatures of Hell. You are not welcome here."

"I don't think so, Sunshine," Azazel shouts back, not quite as effective but still comprehensible. "You've had this comin' for a long time!"

Everything pauses. Gabriel's voice returns to normal as the sky darkens.

"All right, then. Have at it."

They rush forward. Dean, stricken, pulls Sam away from the fight before it can reach them, half-dragging his brother towards the trees. He's nearly there when it all hits him. Sam's lifeless eyes; his cold skin; his stiff limbs. Sam is _dead._

He props his brother behind the tree, hands shaking as he removes the weapon Sam had. Dean runs his hand through Sam's long brown hair once more before turning, running out into the open field where a war has clearly begun. It takes a moment, but he soon has followers. The agents come after him, and fight alongside him.

They can't do much, but it doesn't stop them. Dean has a cold fury running through his veins, and he slashes the throat of any demon that comes within arms reach, nearly beheading some of them. It takes a moment for them to recover from that type of injury, and by then, one of the angels has finished them off. Gabriel has Azazel in his grip, light pouring from his eyes, when he suddenly stops and turns, grabbing Castiel by the arm and disappearing. Dean has no time to ponder on this before another demon is on top of him. He throws it off and Reid shoots it in the head while Morgan holds it down. Reid starts shouting something, and it takes Dean a moment to realize it's Latin. He gets pretty far, the language fluent, but can't finish when Morgan is suddenly ten feet away, choking on his own blood as the demon clenches its fist. Reid stares, horrified. Dean can't get up, Emily is a few feet away barely holding her own against two other women, and Hotch is lying motionless near the tree line. Garcia is systematically making her way through the horde, but there's too many.

The last demon that was attacking Dean threw him against a rock. He hadn't understood what the crack was then, but not being able to move his legs sheds some light on the subject. He watches the carnage around him with a detached, glazed sight. A gun has been discarded by him, hand still attached. He pries the limb off and drops it, holding the weapon in front of him. Though a battle rages around him, he finds a strange sense of peace, staring at the dark metal in his hand.

"Wait for me, Sammy," he whispers, closing his eyes.

When he opens them again, everything has stopped, and a pair of dark hazel eyes are staring back at him.

~SN~CM~SN~CM~


	23. Those Who Survive

_A/N: Oh, goodness me. I don't suppose it will help if I tell you I had _no idea _how long it has been? I am ridiculously sorry. I also don't know if it will help or hurt when I tell you this is the last chapter… of this "base" story, anyway. I've decided I'm definitely extending this into a 'verse! Woot! _

_Anyway, on we go… _

Dean's breath freezes in his lungs. He hasn't pulled the trigger. The face in front of him smiles. Their throat works, but they are silent.

"S… sammy?"

"Dean."

Dean blinks once before pulling Sam into him, holding on tightly and not intending on letting go anytime soon. Sam is laughing, returning the embrace with equal force, dropping his head onto Dean's shoulder.

"I-you were-Sam, I-"

"I know." The words are choked.

Dean's hand is on the back of Sam's head, his cheek pressing into the shaggy hair. He doesn't notice Castiel approaching, but he does notice the gentle touch on his head and the shifting inside of him. Immediately, he's moving to his knees, allowing Sam to completely wrap his arms around his torso. He can't help the grin as his brother leans into him, face buried in Dean's shirt.

"We gotta stop this, Sammy. They're gonna start wondering."

The younger brother laughs again, reluctantly pulling away. He stands, extending his hand to Dean, who grasps it tightly and levers himself up. They turn to Cas, who's still standing there. His spine is stiff, and his clothes miraculously clean. He looks for all the world like a perfect little angel. But his lips are turned up at the corners.

"Thank you, Cas. Thank you."

Cas inclines his head. "Of course, Dean. But I am not the main benefactor here."

The brothers turn to see Gabriel in the middle of the battlefield, kneeling by Morgan. Reid is by their side, looking on in both worry and awe. He glances up, then does a double take and keeps staring, jaw hanging open. Dean chuckles and nudges Sam.

"Think you'd better tell him you're not a ghost."

Sam nods, but doesn't move until Dean steps forward. They make their way over to the agent and angel. When he's within reach, Spencer lifts an arm and brushes his fingers across Sam's shoulder. His eyes are wide.

"You… came back."

"Yeah. Can't keep me down for-"

Sam's cut off as a flying object hits him suddenly in the side, nearly taking him to the ground. Everyone tenses until they realize the blob is Adam, now attached to his brother.

"Sam!" Adam is obviously only standing because he's gripping Sam. He's got a hand planted in the middle of the older brother's chest, staring in wonder.

"How…?"

"You kidding? Did you see this sorry excuse for a 'warrior of heaven' trying to fight while Gigantor was over there stiffening? Besides," Gabriel smirks, coming up from behind Cas. "Sammy's my favorite."

"Thank you," Sam says, glancing once to Dean before looking to Gabriel. His voice is low and somber, but Gabriel just laughs.

"Shut up. Don't you guys have a rule against things like this…?"

Dean laughs in surprise, and Sam catches his eye, smiling crookedly. The expression snaps away, though, as there's a call from behind Dean.

"Sam!"

It is at once relieved and bewildered. Gabriel shifts his weight to one side and sets a hand on his hip.

"You know, I don't know why I bother explaining these things before everyone is together."

Prentiss is drawing nearer, and Dean lets his attention slide away from her as he turns back to the angel.

"Hey, about explaining… what happened to everyone else on the-"

"Emily!"

Dean shuts up at Sam's frantic shout, pivoting to see what has him so terrified. He spots the source immediately. One of the "dead" demons didn't stay down, and now she's taken off after the female agent, switchblade in her hand and a ferocious snarl on her face that says she isn't holding back. She's too fast and there's nothing Dean can do but watch in stunned horror as the gleaming blade swings towards Emily's throat, whistling as it…

Spins through the air to land on the dead grass ten feet away. Baffled, Dean's gaze snaps back to the demon. It's standing a mere foot away from Prentiss, glaring in hatred and shrieking, but not moving. Warily, Dean turns back around. Sam is standing there, arm thrown out, hand extended towards the demon. He's got his other hand pressed to his forehead.

"Sammy…?"

"M'okay, Dean." He flicks his hand and the possessed woman goes flying, the opposite way her weapon went.

Dean starts towards Sam but stops as his brother shakes his head, pulling his hand away from his face as he concentrates, eyes screwing almost shut. Dean forces himself to stay where he is as the demon begins to convulse, growling. Sam drops to one knee and Dean bites his tongue to keep from crying out. Suddenly, the demon gives a final shriek, and a black cloud bursts from her, trying to fly away but springing back and smashing to the ground. It disappears in a flash and a pop of sulfur. Dean is completely frozen, but only for a moment as he sees Sam begin to wilt. He's next to him in nanoseconds, gripping his shoulders.

"You idiot."

Sam just smiles. "Did you- that was… And I don't even have…" Now he's grinning, and Dean's only half-confused but can't help but mirror the expression. It suddenly dissolves as he looks straight into Dean's eyes, his own pupils large and somber. "Dean." The word is heavy, and Dean feels a snake of ice slither down his spine. Sam waits a moment. "I totally owned that thing."

Dean literally feels his jaw drop. The next moment he's pushing Sam away, laughing and scoffing all at once and trying not to choke on his own throat. (Dude, he's being such a _girl!_)

"You freak."

It's out before he realizes it and for a moment, he pales. But Sam just gives him a look and starts laughing again, really laughing, and suddenly Dean wonders how on earth it could be that his eyelids are sweating.

"Holy crap, man. Did that really just happen?"

Derek announces his presence in a fitting way, and they turn to see him and Hotch standing over near Reid and Gabriel. Hotch chuckles at his statement.

"See? Now _that _is why I couldn't let Sam rot." Gabriel looks far too smug.

"You knew this would happen?" Dean honestly doesn't know the emotions that question carries.

"Oh, heck no. That's my point. You never know what'll happen with this guy." Gabriel is smirking widely. "Oh, yeah. Thanks, by the way." He blinks and Garcia is standing next to him. "Go get someone."

She walks off without a word. They watch as she stops around twenty feet away, crouching next to a dark woman, formerly possessed. Her throat is slashed wide open, and a momentary grimace flashes across Dean's face. Sam touches his arm.

Garcia kneels next to the woman and sets a hand on her forehead. There's a flash and the woman is sitting up, chest heaving. Her hands fly to her throat, gaze darting every which way as tears begin to run down her face. Penelope leans in closer and begins talking, to quietly for the group to hear.

The woman still looks frantic, but begins to calm as the angel continues to speak to her. She pulls back after a moment, sending a shocked look to Garcia. She is still for a moment, hand twisting in her hair, and then she looks around the field, an angered expression briefly crossing her features. She speaks back to Garcia, and they see the angel respond in kind. There's hardly a moment before the woman nods once, firmly. Penelope smiles and sets a gentle hand on her face. A glow starts up in her eyes and slowly travels down the length of her arm. It soaks into the other woman's skin. The process takes only half a minute, and once the glow dies down, both woman fall limp.

Morgan starts to rush over, but before he's halfway there, the darker woman is standing and assisting the shaky Garcia. He approaches and takes her arm, surprised when she spins into him and begins to cry. The three make their way back to the group. The angel has a gentle smile on her face as she approaches ahead of the others.

"Thank you all greatly for your help; you are truly heroes to your race."

She saunters back to Sam and Dean, standing behind the rest, seeming to float above the dry ground. She stares into each set of eyes, her own brimming with compassion and something close to some kind of righteous love. The smile on her face never fades.

"Winchesters." The name is said with a surprising degree of humor and fondness. "You two need no words."

And then she's next to Gabriel again, who's cocking his head at her with a mixture of delight and bemusement.

"Know what, Ari'i, I think that body suits you perfectly."

She cocks one well-shaped eyebrow at him. "Yes. The woman, Chana, was rather overwhelmed but remarkably brave and gracious. She wanted to 'cleanse herself' of the demon's presence. I explained to her that I could send her to heaven if she'd be willing to vacate this body. It is now my permanent vessel, and she awaits her fellow comrades in Paradise."

"Fellow… comrades?" Gabriel questions, brow crinkling just slightly.

"I promised her that we would raise the rest of those worthy from the field. Only to life, not yet to Heaven. Though she says she knows many of them, and they will be joining her eventually."

Gabriel rolls his eyes. "Ever the generous one. Well, we can't bring the whole field up without help. We're gonna need to make a visit to Dad." He turns to everyone else, who've been looking on in silent awe. "We have to split so she can keep her promise." He pauses. "Thank you. And listen, these guys-" he motions to the bodies littering the field behind him "-are gonna be a little shocked when they, uh, wake up. You might want to stick around. Who knows? Maybe you can restart. Or whatever it is you meat bags do after what you deem a tragedy." His smirk returns to his face as he faces the Winchesters. "I'll be seeing you."

Sam steps forward. "Will you?"

"You kiddin'? You guys can't keep yourselves out of trouble for more than five minutes."

With that and a final grin, he retreats back to Ari'i. She gives a last, knowing glance to the boys.

"Farewell for now. Keep yourselves safe."

And they're gone. Sam turns to Dean, looking nothing short of gleeful.

"Dean…" he breathes. "I think we finally met… an _angel_."

"Yeah, Sammy," the older brother agrees. "I think we did."

They turn to the agents as Adam comes up to Sam, standing close.

"What now?"

The succinct question comes from Reid, who's situated exactly in the middle of the rest of his team mates. Dean can't help but huff softly in fond amusement.

"Well, apparently we're going to have a lot more bodies to take care of soon, so I say we get movin'. Cas? Since the army of hell-spawn are for the moment banished, you think you could take a spin around and get us some supplies? If we're going to start over, then we're gonna need a lot more than this."

"So we're doing this? Taking charge? Setting up a… safe camp, if you will?" Now it's Hotch asking, face again set in stone as he communicates with Dean. It's Sam who actually answers him.

"It seems like the only sensible answer. We can't leave these people here, and now we have a chance to get things back to how they used to be. Or at least… on the right track."

Everyone is silent a moment, smiles beginning to blossom. There are the beginnings of stirring in the field, and Emily sums everything up as they realize what lies ahead: hope.

"Man, I'm glad we met you guys."

~SN~CM~SN~CM~

_A/N: And the epic comes to a close! Except, not really. I couldn't be more excited to start work on the 'verse! Thank you all so much for your continuing support, despite my inconsistency. Be on the lookout for further continuations of this! I love you all. :] _


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